


Your Heart Was a Legend

by oceans4jinyoung



Series: The Habits You Forgot to Outgrow [3]
Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bands, Journalism, M/M, New York City, Not all relationships are listed, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:40:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 57,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23331793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceans4jinyoung/pseuds/oceans4jinyoung
Summary: Jinyoung is in New York now.  And he thinks he has a plan.  Though he's sleeping with Jaebeom.  So he maybe doesn't know what he's doing at all.  But after he gets drawn into Brainstorm's circle again, he realizes that getting Mark back won't be as straightforward as he had hoped it would.  And it begs the question.  Have any of them changed at all?  Or are they all just a mess of bad habits doomed to keep making the same mistakes?A sequel to Favorite Worst Nightmare.
Relationships: Im Jaebum | JB/Park Jinyoung, Park Jinyoung/Mark Tuan
Series: The Habits You Forgot to Outgrow [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1674832
Comments: 128
Kudos: 128





	1. ...remembering

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the **Spotify playlist** for this story.
> 
> [Legend](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4pa03Xp57ICAi51Vx3un52?si=766bwaHGQamAglTfYr-qBQ)
> 
> Come yell at me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/oceans4jinyoung) and [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/oceans4jinyoung)!!

It started with a solo singer-songwriter on the Lower East Side. Jinyoung was at his show. If you could even call it a show. It was more like a wine bar open mic. But it was all Jinyoung could get as the newest junior writer on the team. Proving that even after six months at the magazine, he was still making a name for himself. And until then, he was relegated to filler features for the edges of the website.

“Yeah, man,” the singer nodded. “I only do acoustic. Strictly acoustic.”

“And why is it important that it’s acoustic?” Jinyoung held his phone up a little higher, trying to clear his voice over the roar of the bar.

The man looked straight at him for a moment. His lips tugging upwards a little. “I can’t tell if you're the kind of guy who wants the fluff answer or the real answer?”

“The real answer,” Jinyoung said firmly. Lifting the phone a little closer. “Always.”

The man inhaled. “When I play acoustic, it makes me feel like I can get swept away in the details. Get lost in the mundane, quiet parts of life. And reflect them in a mundane, quiet way. You know?”

Jinyoung tilted his head. “But what about the loud parts of life? The grand gestures? The big moments? How can you reflect those in the music?”

The man thought for a moment, shaking his head. “I don’t really focus on those.”

“Why not?”

“When music is loud, it’s trying to appeal to everyone. It’s trying to be everything. It’s impersonal. It’s lazy. Like screaming ‘I love you’ to a crowd of people. How’s the person you’re telling going to distinguish it from every other ‘I love you’ that’s been said before?”

And Jinyoung felt himself falter. Falling back into a hot summer dusk. Hundreds of faces. A green bandana around his neck.

“But that’s not how I think it should be done,” the man continued, a smile in his voice. “I think you should be able to whisper it in confidence. In a language made only for the person who needs to hear it. And trust that they are truly listening. Even if you don’t shout it. And that’s why I play acoustic.”

Jinyoung stood there. Taking it in. His hand felt the vibration as his phone screen lit up. The notification reading across the top of the voice recorder app.

Jinyoung’s eyes scanned it.

_Where are you at?_

“Is that all?” the man asked.

Jinyoung looked back up, stopping the recording with his thumb. “Yeah,” he said. “Thanks, man. Again, great show tonight.” He started to back his way out. “I’ll shoot you an email when they release the feature!” He waved, turning on his heel and guiding himself out of the wine bar and back onto the manic streets of a city where there was never a quiet moment. He felt the biting winter wind skirting between the skyscrapers and stinging his face. He hiked his scarf up around his cheeks and nose, trying to shield himself from the gust as he typed out his response.

_Be home in 30 min._

When Jinyoung got home, Jaebeom was already there. Lounging on the couch, eating from one of Jinyoung’s bowls. “Hey,” the man nodded, barely looking up. “There’s some take out on the counter. I got extra just in case-”

“I ate,” Jinyoung stopped him, his mind somewhere distant.

“Oh,” Jaebeom’s voice weakened a little. “Alright, then.”

Jinyoung toed off his shoes and tossed his keys. “Hey,” he unwrapped the scarf from around his face. “Can I ask you something?”

Jaebeom’s spooned another bite of food into his mouth, nodding.

“Why do you play loud music?”

Jaebum furrowed his brows. “What kind of question is that?” he said around a mouthful.

“I mean,” Jinyoung started to pace as he shrugged off his coat. “Is it important that it’s loud?” He threw it towards the couch.

“Hang that up,” Jaebeom beckoned before folding his long hair behind his ear.

Jinyoung rolled his eyes, picking it up and taking it to the coat closet to hang. “Answer me.”

Jaebeom swallowed before speaking. “Yeah,” he said. “Of course it is.”

Jinyoung came to sit down on the other side of the couch. Shifting onto one bent leg. Face leaning into his hand. He looked at him directly. “Why?”

Jaebeom looked down, scraping at the edges of the bowl. “Cause… I don’t know,” he shrugged. “It's easier to hide behind. If it’s soft, it’s too sincere. Too honest.”

Jinyoung narrowed his eyes. “Hide what?”

Jaebeom bit the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know. I’m just ...not good at that part.” 

“What part?”

Jaebeom put the bowl in his lap. Spoon clanking against the porcelain. The deep breath he took widened his chest before he spoke. “The being honest about what I’m feeling part. It’s just… not my strength.”

Jinyoung stared at his face. He tried to connect the dots. Tried to piece apart what he wasn’t saying. “You…” he blinked. “You never told him? How you felt?”

“Not out loud,” Jaebeom said, shyly. Unable to meet Jinyoung’s eyes. “I wrote a couple letters.” 

Jinyoung’s eyes widened. “Love letters?”

“Don’t,” Jaebeom shook his head. “Don’t call them that. They were just letters.”

Jinyoung felt the smirk widening across his face.

Jaebeom flicked his eyes up at him. “What?” he groaned.

Jinyoung lifted his shoulders. “It just doesn’t seem like you,” he laughed a little. “I mean. Did he like them?”

Jaebeom was quiet for a moment. Eyes casting off. Remembering. “Yeah,” he said, softly. “He did.”

Jinyoung watched him. Affording him the luxury of stewing in that memory for as long as time would allow.

But when it was over, Jaebeom drew in a deep breath. “Come on,” he stood up, taking his bowl to the sink and starting to wash it. “By the time I finish washing these dishes, I want you in the room. Undressed.”

Jinyoung felt the simmer of something below the surface. He looked at Jaebeom standing there at the sink. His long hair. His broad shoulders. His toned down fierceness. Unrecognizable from the charismatic frontman who willingly flayed himself on the stage. Unrecognizable from the trope bully who keyed lines into the paint of Jinyoung’s car. He had taken up this different place in Jinyoung’s mind now. And he wasn’t naive enough, desperate enough to think it was anything more than what it was. But it was real. And that was more than either of them had.

Jinyoung got up from the couch, crossing into the kitchen and walking up behind Jaebeom. He pressed against him, one hand grasping his hip while the other gently swiped that hair off his neck so that his mouth could come close to his ear. “What if I take you here instead?” he whispered. He felt the shiver of Jaebeom’s spine. “Maybe we are in that piece of shit apartment you all lived in. And Jackson and Yugyeom are out. And you’re trying to clean up and he comes up behind you like this.”

Jaebeom didn’t miss a beat. “Mark,” he whined. “I’m doing something.”

“So what?” Jinyoung grinded his hips against Jaebeom, feeling the way he was forced to rub against the counter. “Before they get back. I can get you off quick.”

He watched Jaebeom turn the water off, not even drying his hands before they went to the hem of his shirt, pulling it off in one fluid motion and casting it onto the kitchen floor. He didn’t look back to Jinyoung. He just grabbed his hand and slid it down into the space between his legs. Where he was already half hard. “Come on then,” he grunted. “Get me off.”

Two willing accomplices perfecting the same crime.

\---

The next morning, Jinyoung was typing away on his laptop when he heard the stirring in bed behind him. He looked over his shoulder.

“Morning,” he called, seeing Jaebeom sitting up against the headboard. His heavy lidded eyes and his broad bare chest gleaming in the light. Jinyoung clocked it with as much interest as he had in the heart rate of a mouse, the melting point of silver. None at all. He turned back to his laptop.

“Can you come lay back down?” Jaebeom groaned. “It’s freezing.”

“Give me a minute,” Jinyoung murmured, eyes running over the words on the screen. He almost reached the end of the paragraph before he felt arms around his shoulders. The embrace of Jaebeom weighing against his back.

“Come on,” Jaebeom urged softly in his ear. “Work in bed. I’m cold.”

Jinyoung switched the documents on his screen, minimizing the one he’d been looking at in favor of another. He tried to shrug his arms off. “I’m focused on something,” he protested. “Let me just send this off and I’ll come back.”

“What was that?”

“What was what?” Jinyoung hummed, trying to act dumb.

“That document you just clicked off of,” Jaebeom pointed to his screen. “I read the file name. It was called Brainstorm.”

Jinyoung shook his head, leaning in closer to his screen like he was too focused to be listening. “It’s nothing.”

Jaebeom pulled his arms away, spinning the desk chair until they were facing each other. “Are you writing about us?” he asked, eyes drilling into Jinyoung’s.

Jinyoung felt the guilty creep of a fever down his neck. “No,” he denied, face twisting up. But then immediately backtracked. “Not really. Just a warm up when I write other articles.” He watched the way Jaebeom’s eyes were trained to his face, reading him. And he hated feeling so exposed. “What?”

Jaebeom’s eyes seemed untrusting. But if he saw anything he didn’t like in Jinyoung’s features, he dropped it, standing up and backing away. “I’m gonna run down to the bodega and get some coffee,” he grabbed his sweater off the floor, working it over his head. “What do you want?”

Jinyoung shook his head. “I’m fine.”

Jaebeom pushed the sleeves of the sweater up his forearms. “Jinyoung,” he sighed, dropping his shoulders. “It’s just fucking coffee. Just let me buy it for you. I have money now, remember?”

Jinyoung hesitated. “It’s not about the money,” he shook his head.

“Then, what is it?” Jaebeom widened his eyes.

“It’s just…” he traced his finger down the pattern of his pajama pants. “I don’t wanna act like this is... something more than it is.”

Jaebeom’s eyes got lively. Cat-like and intense. His mouth hanging open a little. Like he might be on the edge of an insult, before he suddenly dulled his features. “Fine,” he took both hands, gathering up his long hair and tying it off with an elastic around his wrist. “I’ll just go home then. Would hate for you to get the wrong idea.”

Jinyoung scoffed. “Jaebeom,” he rolled his eyes. “Don’t be like that.”

“It’s fine,” he shook his head, holding up his hands. “It’s fine.” He tucked the excess hair behind his ears before resting his hands against his neck. “Are you coming to our show tomorrow night?”

Jinyoung looked over at his calendar before nodding. “Yeah, I can be there.”

Jaebeom stood still for a moment. Looking at him quizzically. “Tuck your ears into your hat next time,” he noted, coming a little closer. “Nothing more obvious than seeing Dumbo in the crowd,” he tugged at Jinyoung’s ear with a smirk.

“Stop,” Jinyoung tried to crane his head away, pushing Jaebeom’s hand off. The workings of a smile starting to mirror Jaebeom’s, but as soon as he felt it, his stomach turned sour. “Stop,” he said again, more firmly. 

He watched Jaebeom’s smirk fall. His hand followed. Everything about him deadening. The cool tones of his skin paling in the morning light. 

Jinyoung took it in with a glance before turning back towards his desk. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, voice too even.

Jaebeom backed away. “See you tomorrow, Jinyoung,” he said softly before showing himself out.

And as the front door closed, leaving nothing but the white noise of the city, Jinyoung returned to his work, feeling just as distracted as when Jaebeom had been occupying the space. Which is probably why he didn’t notice that he sent his boss the wrong document.

\---

Jinyoung got called to his boss’s office the next week. And as he weaved his way through the open floor plan of the magazine’s office, he wasn’t quite sure what to expect. Had his piece on the wine bar guy been that disappointing? Was he going to get chewed out for some frivolous internet clickbait fluff?

“Jinyoung!” someone called to him and he looked up to see Alex, one of the main editors, flagging him down from the doorway of his office. Alex was a friendly guy who had been writing for the magazine for over ten years and he’d been a mentor to Jinyoung ever since he arrived at the magazine six months ago.

“Hey, man,” he greeted him. “How’s it going?”

“Good, good,” he nodded. “I wanted to let you know that I just got my new place all set up and I’m actually going to be having a housewarming party this weekend.”

“Oh, no way!” Jinyoung smiled. “Congratulations. Yeah. Of course. I would love to make it.”

“Awesome,” he nodded. “I’ll send you the details. Oh. Are you heading to Quinn’s office?”

“Yeah,” Jinyoung quirked his brow, leaning in closer to speak quietly. “Any hint at what this is about?”

Alex smiled. “I won’t spoil it for you, but don’t sweat it,” he winked. “It’s good news.”

Jinyoung laughed. “I’ll take your word for it,” he turned, waving. “See you this weekend!”

He continued through the office before rapping his knuckles onto his boss’s doorway. “You wanted to see me?”

“Ah, yes, Jinyoung!” Quinn cheered. “Come in. Close the door and have a seat.” She leaned back in her desk chair as she watched Jinyoung sit. “I wanted to talk to you about what you sent in this week.”

Jinyoung’s mind reeled, trying to anticipate what she could want to talk about, “Ok.”

“I think there may have been a slight mistake,” she tilted her head. “Because you didn’t actually send in something on what you were assigned to.” She leaned in toward her computer pulling up a document and turning the monitor so Jinyoung could see. “It looks like you sent us a piece on Brainstorm. A considerably larger act.”

Jinyoung felt his face flush red. He sat forward, losing his voice for a minute. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” he rushed to say, voice nearly squeaking. “I can send you that piece now. It’s on my laptop.” He pointed back out towards his desk.

“No,” Quinn scoffed. “Screw that shit. I want to talk about your Brainstorm piece.”

Jinyoung swallowed. And if he had just blushed, he was now paling instead. “Pardon?”

She laughed. “I loved it. It was… brilliant. The way you painted each member like a character. Like they were too vivid to be real. It just ...drew me in, ya know?” She looked to the monitor. “Like this part,” she pointed to the screen. “God. I love this part. ‘Their frontman, Jaebeom LIm, is terrifying on stage. All metal dressed ears and bloody knuckles from where they scrape the guitar strings like it’s a struggle between it and him. He’s physical. Jumping about and thrashing and losing himself as if he is the only one in the room. His pointed eyes screw tight and his mouth shoves up against the mic like the words hurt to get out.’”

Jinyoung looked back at her. All wide eyed, mouth opening but no words coming out.

“And this too,” the boss sat on the edge of her seat, leaning her chin onto her hand. “‘Drummer, Mark Tuan, looks like summer and plays like a storm. A precision in every stroke that elevates the musicianship of all the other members, while creating a contagious energy that makes it hard not to watch. His wide pointed smile and the sparkle in his dark eyes make him so breathtakingly beautiful that he looks like he was made to break your heart. And with the strong and confident way in which he drums, you’ll swear his back beat replaces your heart beat by the end of the night.’”

Quinn looked up, shaking her head. “I mean,” she smiled. “It’s fucking great. There’s something so ...intimate about how you write about them. It’s like I already know them.”

Jinyoung felt the itch of heat everywhere. He wanted to accept the compliments but he was too shocked to process them. “Thank you,” he managed to choke out. “I mean. They are a great band. An easy subject for a writer.”

“The magazine’s covered them before, but not like this,” she shook her head. “And I have heard through the grapevine that they are working on new music right now in the studio. So, I made some calls this morning and I want you to write a piece.”

Jinyoung blinked his eyes. “Me?” he said. “I mean they are the hottest thing in rock right now. I just don’t really think-”

“Jinyoung,” she stopped him. “I have two eyes and they read what you wrote. You have a way with writing when it comes to them. And I would be a fool to give this piece to anyone else.”

“What…” Jinyoung tried to keep his words running past the million intruding thoughts his brain was trying to conjure. “What did you have in mind?”

“So,” she sat back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest. “I want you to spend a few weeks with them in the studio. Really see their process. Understand them. And I’d like for you to do private interviews with each member. Really expound on the characters you’ve already started to paint here.” She motioned to the screen.

“A-a few weeks?” Jinyoung stammered. “I don’t know. I have a lot of other assignments I was in the middle of working on and-”

“Jinyoung,” she groaned. “I’m telling you right now. If this piece really comes together. If you wow me the way you wow’d me with this little teaser. I might consider this for a cover story.”

Jinyoung's mouth hung open. “I… I don’t know.”

“You won’t get an opportunity like this again,” she shook her head. “Take it. Do your best work. Prove to us what you can do.” She smiled. “You start Monday.”

\---

Brainstorm’s show was at a venue in Brooklyn. The crowd was full of hipsters with waxed mustaches and undercuts. And Jinyoung knew he stuck out like a sore thumb in his khakis and his button down and his ears tucked into his cap, but it didn’t matter as long as he kept enough distance to not be seen.

The band played well. They always played well. Which is probably why their first year on a major label had been so successful. They’d been featured on nearly every platform. Had a couple singles break into the charts. Performed on late night shows and even backed up a pop star at an awards show.

Mark was still Mark. He was beautiful and warm. Unaware of his light. Sure, his hair was a little less blonde now, teetering on a light brown. And his clothes weren’t relegated to destroyed t-shirts and jeans anymore. No, now everything he wore seemed a little more elevated. Short sleeve button down shirts in dark patterns. Fitted black jeans and pointy toed boots. His hair styled out of his face with product. Barely flashing any of those tattoos anymore. The ones that Jinyoung traced in his dreams.

And it ached to think about the passage of time. To think that he missed out on those moments that turned Mark from a hometown boy to a bonafide rockstar. Recklessly wondering if that’s all his life would be. A timeline of Mark’s evolutions. Recklessly feeling like maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.

After the show ended, Jinyoung fell into the routine. He waited at a nearby coffee shop, knowing that Jaebeom was breaking down their gear. And thirty minutes later, they were heading back to Jinyoung’s in a taxi. The rides were always dark and quiet. Jaebeom still making too much heat from the shows and filling the car with it. Neither of them having anything of merit to say.

When they got back, Jaebeom went to hang both of their coats.

“Hey,” Jinyoung said, leaning into the wall. His hands going into his pockets. “Can I talk to you about something?”

Jaebeom’s face went a little nervous but he nodded.

Jinyoung knew there was no way to soften it. He just had to rip the bandaid. “Something came up at work,” he said. “They assigned me to do a story on you guys.”

Jaebeom paused for a moment. His eyes narrowing. “Just a show review or something? Like you usually do?” He closed the closet door. 

Jinyoung took in a breath. “Not exactly,” he said. “My boss wants it to be a bit more… involved than that.”

Jaebeom looked back at him. The question in his eyes.

Jinyoung pulled his hands out of his pockets, crossing his arms. “She wants me to spend some time with you guys in the studio. Since you’re working on the new album.” He looked down, unable to meet his eyes. “And she wants me to do private interviews with each of you.”

“Well,” Jaebeom shrugged. “You told her you couldn’t, right?”

Jinyoung twisted his mouth together. “I wasn’t really given the option.”

Jaebeom stilled for a moment before he walked past him, turning into the bedroom. 

Jinyoung followed him, leaning into the doorway. Watching how he dragged his feet, sitting at the edge of the bed.

“That’s not…” Jaebeom sighed. He leaned forward, working his hands into his hair. “You can’t do that.”

“I know this isn’t ideal,” he said. “It’s just she gave me this speech about how it’s such a good opportunity and how I would be a fool to-”

“Don’t bullshit me, Jinyoung,” Jaebeom looked up, meeting his eyes. 

“Jaebeom, I swear,” Jinyoung rushed, taking a few steps towards him.

“No, you’re lying,” Jaebeom said firmly. Voice working up slightly. “You were writing that document about us. You knew what you were doing. You wanted this.”

“I’m not lying,” Jinyoung shook his head. “I meant to send in the other one.”

“But what?” Jaebeom laughed, callously. “Hand slipped?”

Jinyoung hated him when he was like this. “No,” he gritted out, feeling the rise of anger welling up. “I just had someone distracting me.”

“Oh, I see. So, it’s my fault,” Jaebeom smirked. Eyes narrow and mocking. “Tell me then. What was I doing? How was I distracting you?”

“I don’t know,” Jinyoung threw his hands. “You were trying to be all friendly. Trying to act like my goddamn boyfriend. Even though you know I don’t like it when you do that.”

Jaebeom scoffed. “You’re fucking impossible,” he shook his head. “I can’t even fucking buy a coffee without you thinking that I’m trying to fucking court you or something.”

Jinyoung felt something in him hit the ceiling. “It’s not just the fucking coffee!” he screamed. “It’s the way you are getting so comfortable in my house. Coming over whenever you feel like it. Bringing me food. Cleaning up. It’s just. It’s weird, Jaebeom.” The words rushed out, no filter.

Jaebeom rose from his place on the bed, coming closer. His eyes flickering like a lighter, igniting. His voice coming out eerily soft and sinister. “We pretend we are fucking someone else when we have sex and you think me picking up your goddamn socks is weird?”

Jinyoung swallowed. Feeling dwarfed by Jaebeom’s quiet intensity. His mouth rushing to defense before his mind could stop him. “Maybe you aren’t even pretending anymore,” he shrugged. “Maybe you really like me fucking you that much. Maybe more than when he did it.”

“You fucking asshole,” Jaebeom squared up to him. The heat in him coming off in waves that Jinyoung could feel. “God, you’re such a prick. You honestly think this project will bring him back to you, don’t you?”

“No,” Jinyoung bit out. “I think this project will let me expose you for the fucking psycho that you are.”

“Takes one to know one, Jinyoung.”

“Fuck you,” Jinyoung spat, turning away, trying to walk out.

Jaebeom grabbed his wrist, yanking him close enough that he could draw their bodies close. Press his face into Jinyoung’s. Overwhelm him. “You don’t want me acting like your boyfriend?” he panted out. “Then fucking show me. Fuck me like I’m not your boyfriend. Fuck me like I’m not anything at all.”

It was some kind of trap. Jinyoung knew it. And he wanted more than anything to push him off and leave the apartment and not come back. Bury whatever bond they had built for themselves in that place that wasn’t ever meant for Jaebeom. But he knew it was too late for that. Because what they had was too egregious. Too horrifying to go quietly. And even a fight like this wasn’t enough to shoot it dead.

So he gave in, kissing Jaebeom with all the intensity of the fight. Letting him rip the buttons down his shirt. Pushing him up onto the bed. Pressing all his weight into him to keep him from thrashing. Yanking his long hair until he was whimpering so loud the neighbors must have been able to hear. And he fucked him like he wouldn’t ever fuck anyone else. Not because he loved him. Not because he hated him. But because he was all Jinyoung had.

And when Jaebeom came, he still moaned Mark’s name.

\---

Alex’s loft was infinitely more impressive than Jinyoung’s. It was in Midtown, a couple blocks off of Park Ave. And by the time Jinyoung had arrived at the housewarming party, the crowd was already thick enough to wade through. And he only recognized a handful of people from the office and a handful of others from the music industry.

So, he’d made a beeline for the drinks, desperate to have something to busy his hands. He still didn’t have a taste for alcohol so he relegated himself to whatever the person in front of him had. Which was, unfortunately, some artisan beer that tasted just as horrible as any other kind of beer. He went to stand at the windows. From the loft’s panoramic views, he could see the sun setting just beyond the rise and fall of the skyline, flooding the apartment with golden light. And looking down, he saw the film of gleaming white on a snowy Central Park below.

“Jinyoung.” He heard someone calling out to him. He turned, watching Alex coming towards him. He beckoned for Jinyoung to come closer. “I have someone I want you to meet.”

Jinyoung felt a bit confused but let the editor sling an arm around his shoulders and pull him close enough to speak in his ear. “You’re lucky,” his breath carried the lingering notes of some hard liquor that Jinyoung couldn’t place. “He’s your age. And he’s single.”

Jinyoung’s face twisted up, half from the smell of his breath and half from the implication of his words. But he kept walking alongside him, being pulled to a place by the mantle where his writing awards hung on the wall.

Looking up at them was a head full of light brown hair. Jinyoung’s eyes raked subtly up and down. Taking in firm arms, a svelte frame, nice clothing. The editor reached out, tapping the man’s shoulder to get his attention over the roar of the room.

“Jinyoung,” Alex said, beckoning towards the man. “This is Mark Tuan.”

Jinyoung froze as the man turned towards them. His face immediately caught the golden light of the dusk. High points and low points casting shadows. Reflecting off his dark eyes and making them shine. And Jinyoung’s whole chest felt like it might burst. Instantly remembering the way he’d looked when he dropped him off that last time. How similar the light had been. And he tried to keep himself from remembering the way he felt when he held him that last time. 

If Mark was surprised, he hid it well. And if his placid face had paled at all, it would be impossible to detect under the golden light. But Jinyoung could see the bob in his throat when he swallowed. He could see the way his eyes fixated on Jinyoung, firmly holding his gaze. Making it hard to breath. 

“Jinyoung,” Alex spoke. “This is the drummer of Brainstorm who you’ll be doing your assignment with over the next few weeks.” It was clear that he didn’t pick up on any tension that may be there. He turned to Mark. “You know the piece I was telling you about? Well, Jinyoung is one of our junior writers. We recruited him from an Ivy League,” he jabbed Jinyoung with his elbow. “He’s youngblood but he’s impressed us so far. And I think he’s going to do something really interesting with your piece.”

It was silent for a moment between the three of them. Jinyoung at a total loss of what to say. And Mark must have picked up on it because he filled the space himself.

“I think we’ve met before,” he told Alex, taking a sip of his drink, still holding Jinyoung’s eyes.

“You have?” he asked, turning to Jinyoung.

Jinyoung hesitated. “I went to school in his hometown. I saw a few of their shows.” 

“Oh, amazing,” he laughed. “Well, then,” he slapped Jinyoung’s back. “I’m sure you both have a lot to talk about. I’ll leave you to it.” And he gave Jinyoung a not so subtle wink before fading back into the crowd to mingle.

Their eyes stayed fixed on each other. And it was awkward. Unbearably so. Because Jinyoung had planned this moment out for months. Yet in every iteration, it never happened like this. So he found himself scrambling to find words. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know you’d be here.” 

Mark’s eyebrows raised subtly, something snide filling his eyes. “In New York City?” 

It hit him like a load of bricks that Mark wasn’t happy to see him. Further proving that he was not as prepared for this meeting as he imagined he was. “No,” Jinyoung shook his head. “I meant at this party.” 

“Oh, it’s fine,” Mark said before tipping back his cup and draining it’s contents in one gulp. He handed the cup to Jinyoung, who instinctively took it. “I was just leaving.” And he bypassed him, heading towards the door.

Jinyoung watched him walk away. He looked down to the cups in either hand. He sighed, looking around and finding the nearest flat surface to put them down. He went for the door, rummaging through the rack of coats until he found his own.

When he stepped out into the hallway, he could see Mark waiting for the elevator. “Mark, wait!” he called after him.

Mark looked up and soon as he saw him, he dropped his shoulders in a sigh. He turned, racing to the door of the stairwell.

“Shit,” Jinyoung cursed under his breath. Not sure what he was doing but knowing no other option than to chase after him. When he opened the door of the stairwell, he could hear the echo of Mark’s winding, descending steps. He rushed, trying to catch up. “Mark, stop,” he called, voice bouncing off the concrete. “Let me talk to you. Let me explain.”

“How long have you been here, Jinyoung?” Mark called back, not stopping.

Jinyoung felt the flush work down his ears and neck. From more than just the lack of endurance he had. “About six months.”

Jinyoung couldn’t see his face but he could hear the disgusted sound he released as he kept going. And it made his mind rush. Wanting nothing more than for Mark to stop. For them to talk. But he didn’t know how to do that. So, he habitually felt his defensiveness roar back. “What?” he said, heart racing. “Do you think you own this city? Am I barred from entering?” 

“I see you haven’t changed one bit,” Mark said, not even looking back.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You still think everything is about you.”

Jinyoung scoffed. “Says the guy who just left a party because of me.”

“It was a lame party anyway,” Mark shrugged.

Jinyoung could hear the beating of his heart in his ears. “Mark,” he whined. “It’s like thirty floors. You’re going to make me have a heart attack. We don’t all have drummer stamina.”

“I’m not making you do anything,” Mark hissed.

Jinyoung groaned. He took the nearest exit onto a floor, viciously clicking the down button for the elevator until it arrived. He took it down to the ground floor before coming out and going back into the staircase. He could hear the continued echo of Mark’s footsteps, slower now. Though unclear if he was tired or anticipating Jinyoung standing at the bottom.

Mark turned the corner of the final set of steps, coming down each of them one by one. His nose flaring as his chest rose and fell. A subtle shine across his forehead where his hair had been worked away from it. His eyes filled with contempt.

Jinyoung stretched one hand to the wall and one to the hand railing, not letting him pass. “Talk to me,” he begged. “Please.”

Mark put his teeth to his lip. And just seeing it again made Jinyoung’s eyes follow it. Made him ache all over. Remembering too much. “Was he serious?” Mark said, crossing his arms. “Are you really the one doing that story on us?”

Jinyoung looked back up to his eyes. “Yeah.”

“This is just another one of your schemes,” he shook his head. “God,” he scoffed. “I should have known you’d do something like this.”

“It’s not a scheme,” Jinyoung protested. “It was an accident. I sent something in about you guys instead of the assignment I was on and my boss liked it. I tried to tell her no-”

“Jaebeom’s going to be so pissed,” Mark almost laughed, something callous in it. “He’s gonna wonder how much your parents’ offered to get you a job there.” 

He was silent, wondering why Mark would bring Jaebeom up. Because Jinyoung knew they weren’t sleeping together anymore. So what was the point in mentioning him? He wondered absentmindedly if it was just to see what reaction he’d get. “I don’t care. I didn’t ask for this. It just happened.”

“I don’t believe you,” Mark raised his voice slightly.

Jinyoung’s anger rose like a wave to meet his. “You’ve already made up your mind about what you’ll believe,” he bit out. “So maybe you haven’t changed either.”

Mark held his eyes. “Let me leave, Jinyoung,” he enunciated clearly.

Jinyoung didn’t want him to go. He’d been waiting months for their paths to cross and now he was here and nothing was going as planned. He wanted to keep Mark here until they worked it out. Until everything was fine. He didn’t want to leave anymore loose ends. Not like last time. 

But somewhere inside, he knew that being cornered like this wasn’t what Mark wanted. And not caring about what Mark wanted had left Jinyoung with too many regrets the first time. So he took a deep breath and stepped aside.

Mark tightened his jaw and averted his gaze. And as he twisted close to pass, Jinyoung felt something come over him. It had him reaching out, catching Mark by his waist and pulling him closer. Putting a hand to his face immediately and drawing it near.

Mark’s eyes went wide. Not holding that contempt anymore. Not holding anything but surprise. His body not resisting. Just stilled in Jinyoung’s arms.

Everything about Mark still felt the same. His skin still felt warm and his body still felt tight. And Jinyoung had the intrusive thought that he’d only have to graze his fingertips a little higher onto his torso to try and feel the raised parts of his tattoo through his shirt. But he stuffed it away.

He felt the crease of his brows drawing together. “Did you really not miss me at all?” he asked, softly. “Not even a little bit?” His disappointment bleeding through his tone.

Mark’s mouth was small, twisting to the side slightly like maybe he was considering it. 

“Cause I missed you,” he said, fingers brushing at the hair above his ear. “I thought about you all the fucking time, Mark. Just like I said I would.”

Mark didn’t move. His face didn’t change. But as Jinyoung stared into his eyes, looking for any hint of emotion in them, he saw a momentary flash. A glint of sparkle that was gone in an instant. 

Jinyoung’s heart expanded within his chest.

But then Mark’s face went slack. Falling until it turned to stone. Unreadable. Distant. “What was there to miss about you, Jinyoung?” his voice suddenly ice cold. 

And that feeling in Jinyoung’s chest turned sharp, twisting like a blade in a fatal wound.

“Can I go now?” Mark sighed, like he couldn’t even be bothered.

Jinyoung struggled to breathe. He pulled his hands away. “I’m sorry,” he swallowed. “That was unprofessional of me.”

“It was,” Mark took a step away from him, readjusting his clothes. “I’m hoping by Monday, you learn how to keep your emotions out of your work.”

Jinyoung felt his eyes gloss. He nodded. “I will.”

“I’ll see you then, Jinyoung,” he said, forcing the corners of his mouth up. “Get home safe.”

Jinyoung watched Mark leave, the heavy door of the stairwell slamming shut in his wake. He tried to breathe, feeling the rattle of that blade in his chest. “You too, Mark,” he whispered to himself.

When he got home, Jaebeom was there again, laying in his bed. And Jinyoung didn’t really want to see anyone, especially not him. They hadn’t talked since their fight, but after a few months of dysfunctional semi-co-habitating, they’d become experts at brushing things under the rug to revisit next time they got upset.

“Where’d you go?” Jaebeom asked.

“I was at a housewarming party for a coworker,” Jinyoung sighed, standing at the edge of the bed and working his fingers down the buttons of his shirt. 

“How was it?”

Jinyoung felt drained, emotionally and physically. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

Jaebeom beckoned towards the bathroom. “Go take a shower,” he said. “I’ll be here.”

Jinyoung took his advice. Dragging himself into a hot shower and feeling the water pour over him. He thought back to Mark’s face, to that glint of a sparkle. Wondering if he’d imagined it. Because Mark had been so much crueller than Jinyoung would have ever imagined. And he was left playing back every moment of it, wondering why he had been that way. What was he so scared of?

He stood there so long, ruminating in his thoughts, that the water ran cold. And he cursed under his breath, turning it off and wrapping a towel around himself. He stood at the mirror, appraising himself. Wondering if Mark was right. What if he hadn’t changed in their time apart?

His eyes shifted in the mirror, seeing Jaebeom come up behind him, arms encircling his bare torso. 

“Feel better?” Jaebeom asked, putting his chin onto his shoulder and eyeing him in the mirror.

Jinyoung focused on their reflection, thinking back to him and Mark in the rundown motel past the state border.

_“This. This is what it looks like.”_

_“What?” Mark had murmured, eyes studying them in the mirror._

_“Love.”_

Now looking at him and Jaebeom in the mirror, it didn’t stir those same feelings. And it made Jinyoung feel even more wounded. Remembering this was all he had left of Mark.

“Not really,” he whispered out, too honestly.

Jaebeom turned his face, kissing into his neck. “Mmm,” he hummed. “Maybe I can help with that.”

And Jinyoung knew more than ever that he couldn’t.


	2. ...reliving

The studio was on 30th between Second and Third Avenue. And as Jinyoung approached the address around midday on Monday, he couldn’t stop checking his phone. Cause surely he wasn’t in the right place. The outer facade was that of an old church. A tall steeple with a stained glass window at the top. But the instructions Quinn had given him had been clear. So he approached the double wooden doors, knocking three times and waiting. 

Too much time passed. And he considered knocking again, knuckles coming up to the edge of the wood before it opened for him. An older man in a bowling shirt with wrinkles at the corners of his eyes squinted at Jinyoung.

“Are you the journalist?” he asked in a British accent.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Jinyoung Park,” he stuck out his hand.

The man looked at it, turning and leaving the door open in his wake. “Come on. We were in the middle of a breakthrough. I’m hoping not to squander this one.”

Jinyoung clasped his hand into a fist with a sigh. He ducked into the church. Inside was much darker. No windows, just warm lights that hung from the vaulted ceilings that were layered with dark wood banisters. Jinyoung realized then that it was, in fact, a church. At least it had been. But now it was gutted. And it’s instead of pews in the center, it was a full band set up with at least a dozen microphones. The cords weaving across the floor, under antique carpets to a huge desk. Computer monitors, keyboards, and an expansive soundboard sat. Chairs empty. 

The band was all set up. Instruments in hand and headphones pulled down around their necks. Jaebeom in the center, Mark on drums, Jackson to the left on lead guitar, and Yugyeom on the right with a bass slung over his wide shoulders. The man sat down on the floor in front of them, picking up the acoustic guitar on the floor. “As I was saying,” he strummed against it. “We need to play to your strengths. With you guys, it’s the momentum, right? That’s what people feel when they listen to you. That’s what they like about you. That energy.”

Jinyoung tried to stay in the background as he came in. Not flicking his eyes up towards the members, crossing the room towards an empty couch against the wall. He sat down carefully. Trying not to make a sound.

“And we need to find that feeling again,” the man continued. “So we have one more take on this tape, so let’s give it another go from the bridge. And this time, Mark, can you listen a bit more for Jaebeom? I feel like that connection isn’t there. In that part with the-” He strummed out against the acoustic. “Just feel it out. Listen to each other,” He stood up, coming over to the desk and messing around with the computer. “Okay, Jaebeom, lead them when you’re ready.” He took his seat on the floor again.

The band pulled on their headphones, looking to Jaebeom, watching him count off. They played collectively. Purely instrumental. And the music was a little different. Less frantic that the stuff they were making back in the day. Still reminiscent of the dark tones they seemed to prefer. Still the walking bass lines and driving percussion, but something a little different too. Maybe a bit too gloomy compared to what Jinyoung usually heard from them.

Jinyoung nodded his head, feeling the music, as he took his laptop out. Trying to feel out how he could mimic the sound in words. He started to type out a few notes immediately. Feeling instantly compelled to get those first impressions out before growing too familiar with it.

The song played out. The man stood up from where he sat. “What did we like there?”

They were silent for a moment. But Jackson was the first to speak.

“I liked that bassline at the end of the bridge,” Jackson called to Yugyeom. “The one that you did leading into the chorus. I feel like it complimented the chords well.”

“Okay,” Yugyeom nodded, experimenting with picking it out again.

Jaebeom cleared his throat. “I like the way Mark’s using the rim for some interesting accents,” he noted.

“Like what?” the man asked.

“The cross stitches in the transition between the chorus and the-”

“They weren’t cross stitches,” Mark interrupted. Hands fisted over his sticks, resting on the spots where his legs met his hips. “They were rim clicks.”

“You sure?” Jaebeom turned back to him. “I could have sworn-”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Mark narrowed his eyes. “I was the best jazz drummer in the state. I think I’d know the difference, Jaebeom.”

Jackson and Yugyeom shot glances at each other. A sigh and an eye roll being exchanged. 

“Fine,” Jaebeom sighed. “I was trying to compliment you. Just take the compliment. Geez.”

Mark scoffed. “Guy watches _Whiplash_ one time and he thinks he knows what he’s talking about.”

The man in front looked expastered. “Alright,” he sighed. “Take a break. I’ll set the next tape.” He turned towards Jinyoung. “And, journalist. I can hear you typing on the tape. We didn’t hire you to play keyboard. Can you switch to paper if you’re gonna be here?”

Jinyoung paled slightly before closing his laptop. “Sorry,” he muttered, sliding it back into his bag and grabbing a notebook instead.

Jackson looked over, pulling his guitar off and setting it down. “Jinyoung Park!” he hollered. “A sight for sore eyes!”

Jinyoung felt his nerves stir at the familiarity Jackson was showing him, sitting up in his seat. “Did you know I’d be here?”

“Yeah,” Jackson nodded, coming up and setting down next to him. “Claude told us this morning.”

“Is that Claude?” Jinyoung lowered his voice, beckoning towards the man. His headphones were around his ears, listening to the playback as he set a new tape.

“Yep,” Yuygeom said, grabbing a water bottle and resting against the arm of the sofa. “Don’t let him scare you. He’s better with music than with people.”

“No worries,” Jinyoung raised his shoulders. “I understand. I’m not here to disrupt the process.”

Jackson sighed. “Honestly, we’ve been stuck in this place every weekday for over a month and we are in desperate need of a fresh face,” he pouted his lower lip out. “So when Claude told us you’d be hanging out, we were excited.” His face fell a little, “Well. Yugyeom and I were excited.”

Yugyeom nodded. “We were. It’s been so long since our bands used to play together.”

“I appreciate that,” Jinyoung smiled. “I’m glad we have more time to get to know each other.”  
  
He looked up, making brief eye contact with Jaebeom as he crossed the studio floor to sit at the bench of a grand piano. He pulled out a notebook from his pocket. He started to jot things down against the cover of the piano.

“So, you’re writing now?” Jackson asked.

Jinyoung peeled his eyes away from the frontman. “I mean, I was always writing,” he shrugged. “The music thing was kinda just extracurricular.”

“Well, we heard you’re going to be doing individual interviews,” Yugyeom said. “If you want, I could do mine first. While you’re still getting ...reacclimated to the band.” His eyes motioned toward Jaebeom across the room.

Jinyoung licked his lips. “I’d appreciate that. Let’s make time this week when you’re not recording.” He looked up, eyes trying to relocate Mark in the room but coming up empty. “Hey. Can you point me towards the bathroom?”

Jinyoung found Mark in the bathroom. He was standing at the sink. His palms cupping handfuls of water and splashing his face. He was breathing hard. Dripping fingers running up into his hair. His t-shirt peppered with beads of water now.

“If you’re trying to apologize-” he looked up, catching Jinyoung’s eyes in the mirror. He stopped. “I thought you were Jaebeom.”

Jinyoung leaned against the wall. “I’m not Jaebeom,” he shook his head. “But I still wanted to apologize.”

Mark turned towards him, small rivulets of water streaming down his cheeks. Darkened wet hair worked out of his face. His eyes dark and open, waiting for him to continue.

Jinyoung took in a deep breath. “I just wanted to clear the air before we get started,” he said. “I know I’m not exactly the person you want to see at work everyday. And I’m sorry about that. It’s got to be hard enough doing this with Jaebeom all the time.”

Mark’s mouth twisted together. “Is that all?”

Jinyoung licked his lips. “And I’m sorry. About the other night. You have every right not to talk to me. It was wrong of me to force you like that.”

Mark folded his arms against his chest. Muscles showing through under his sleeves. “I appreciate the apology,” he said. “But for everyone’s sake, I think it’s best if you keep your distance while here. As you can see, I’m already dealing with one regret of mine. I’m not too thrilled about the prospect of dealing with another.”

And it hurt. Because Jinyoung didn’t know he’d been relegated to a regret. But he knew they would be thrown together for the next few weeks. And he didn’t want to start it off on a bad foot. So he nodded, “I can do that.” 

Mark nodded. “Good.”

“And for the record,” Jinyoung shrugged. “I haven’t seen Whiplash and I still knew they were rim clicks.”

Mark looked at him a moment before his mouth started to tug upwards. He looked to the floor, concealing a huff of laughter. “I’ll see you out there, Jinyoung,” he said, bypassing him and leaving.

\---

Jinyoung kept watching for a few days. Keeping his distance like he promised. Taking notes on how things were going. How Claude's work style meshed with the group. The inspirations they talked about when referencing the sound they were shooting for. When they were on break, Jackson and Yugyeom would talk Jinyoung’s ear off about just about anything other than the band. And he was surprised that he never knew how friendly they both were. Realizing that he’d been so focused on Mark that summer that those two never really came up on his radar.

Jackson and Yugyeom had the ability to lighten the mood, even when Jaebeom and Mark seemed to be determined to weigh it down. The ex-lovers didn’t bicker every day. But even when they didn’t, the tone that settled between them was tense. Nothing hostile. But it was enough to cloud the air of the room no matter what the songs were sounding like. 

Yugyeom’s interview was actually something Jinyoung was looking forward to. They did it a few days later in the vocal booth while Jaebeom and Jackson were figuring out some guitar parts and Mark was assembling a kit they’d pulled from Claude’s collection. Yugyeom was a diligent interviewee. He answered Jinyoung’s questions with ease and grace. Never getting too flustered, even when Jinyoung prodded for more.

“So, you guys are doing a lot of live tracking, right? Not tracking parts individually but as a full band. What led to that decision?”

“Well,” Yugyeom shrugged. “That’s the way you do it when you start playing in a garage with a bunch of your friends. You just play through things and figure out what sounds best together. But for our first record, we wanted to do everything by the book. We wanted to do what all the other bands do. So we recorded individually. Wrote individually. And it was fine. It worked out well enough. But it didn’t feel like us.”

“Why not?”

Yugyeom only hesitated for a small moment. “It was a hard time for us,” he nodded. “I’ll leave it at that.”

Jinyoung noted it, wondering if maybe another member could shed more light there. But he didn’t want to pry, so he moved on. “How is it working with Claude?”

“It’s been good,” Yugyeom smiled. “I think he’ll stick.”

“Stick?”

“Yeah, well. He’s the…” he counted off on his fingers. “Fourth producer we’ve hired at this point.”

Jinyoung’s brows creased together. “Why is that?”

Yugyeom shrugged. “It just wasn’t really working with the others. We were writing a lot but we weren’t feeling strongly about anything in particular.”

“How many tracks have you guys written so far for this album?”

“Total?” Yugyeom thought for a moment. “Maybe about sixty?”

“Sixty?” Jinyoung’s eyes went wide.

Yugyeom nodded. “It’s been a long road. I think we are fairly tired to be honest,” he laughed before his eyes snapped up to meet Jinyoung’s. “But don’t tell Jaebeom that.”

Jinyoung smirked. Curious. “Why not?”

“He’s just been… this process has been harder on him than anyone,” Yugyeom answered, very diplomatically. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for this to get so dark. And it’s only your first interview.”

“That’s okay,” Jinyoung shook his head. But he felt like Yugyeom was uncomfortable with how much he was sharing. And as a thank you, he tried to distract from it, “Did you hear about Bam?”

Yugyeom smiled wide. “Yeah. We chat sometimes. He’ll be moving this week, right?” 

“Yeah,” Jinyoung laughed. “You should have heard him trying to pack. His internship is only for two months but you’d think he’s moving to a foreign country with how much he’s bringing.”

Yugyeom laughed. “It will be good to have him. We should all get together. Go get a drink or something. Like old times.”

Jinyoung’s eyes looked out the plexiglass at where Jaebeom and Mark were sitting at opposite sides of the room from each other. He hissed through his teeth. “Maybe not like old times.”

Yugyeom seemed to catch on. “You’re right,” he smiled. “Maybe not. Maybe it’s time to make some new memories then.”

\---

Sometime later, Jinyoung was organizing his notes on his computer. Across the room, Claude, Jaebeom, Jackson, and Yugyeom were sandwiched in the vocal booth toying with the same part for the past two hours. All of them gathered around the mic, trying different ways of layering the harmonies.

“Hey.”

Jinyoung looked up, seeing Mark standing over him.

“Hey,” he said, trying not to admire how he looked with the warm church lights silhouetting his features.

“I was going to go get lunch for everyone. But they are all busy and it’s a lot to carry,” he bit into his lips. “Would you mind coming with?”

Jinyoung was frozen for a moment before he nodded. “Yeah. I can help,” he said. He put his work to the side, grabbing his coat. He started trailing behind Mark and when he looked up, Jaebeom was watching him from inside the booth. His eyes following them out of the building.

They walked in silence to the deli two blocks down where Mark listed off everyone’s orders before turning to Jinyoung. “What do you want?”

“Oh, I’m fine” he shook his head. “I can get myself.”

“Come on,” Mark rolled his eyes. “I’m getting everyone.”

Jinyoung pursed his lips before stepping up to the counter and ordering.

They sat down at a table, waiting for their order to be made. The silence between them felt suffocating. So Jinyoung opened his mouth, “So you-” “How is-” Mark spoke at the same time.

They both stopped.

“Go ahead,” Mark urged.

“No, you first,” Jinyoung countered.

Mark took a deep breath. “I was just wondering how you liked living here?”

Jinyoung tried to hold his eyes. Tried to not look away. Telling himself that he had to value every moment like this, no matter how awkward. “I like it,” he nodded. “I like the publication I’m at. The team there has been really great. They don’t just treat me like I’m the lowest member of the company. Even though I am,” he laughed. He fell silent, swallowing. “It’s a little lonely, too. Living by yourself. You know. Big city. Hard to make friends.”

Mark hummed in understanding, leaning forward to put his chin in his hand. Cheeks pink from the cold. “How are Youngjae and Bambam?”

Jinyoung tried not to think about how nice words sounded in his mouth. Any words. It didn’t matter if it was words of encouragement, small talk, insults. It was all so- “Good,” he nodded. “Youngjae is finishing up his degree this semester. And Bambam is actually coming here this week. He’ll be doing an internship with a design house.”

“Nice,” Mark forced the corners of his mouth up. Polite.

“What about you?” Jinyoung asked. “Is living here everything you dreamed it would be?”

“Some things are. Some things aren’t,” he tilted his head back and forth. “We are busy a lot. Traveling for tours, performances, events, whatever. And that makes it hard to feel settled. But when I’m here, I like it.”

Jinyoung fought the urges he was having. To reach across the table and take his hand. To draw their faces together. Because that’s how it used to be with Mark. Jinyoung used to just take what he wanted. But now everything was about restraint and he was struggling.

“Has Jaebeom been giving you any trouble?” Mark asked, suddenly.

“No,” Jinyoung shook his head. “I mean. We’re adults. That stuff is in the past, right?”

“Right,” Mark said, maybe a little too quickly. “I just. I wasn’t sure.”

“You guys don’t talk much?” Jinyoung asked, knowing the answer but wanting to hear what he would say.

Mark bit at his lips. “Not really,” he shook his head. “We keep it professional now.”

“Yeah,” Jinyoung murmured. “I noticed.” If being professional meant bickering and ignoring each other. “That must be hard.”

“It is what it is,” Mark shrugged. “It’s better than it was.”

And Jinyoung thought back to how helpless Mark had felt under Jaebeom’s control. And how he’d watched him experiment with his power. Exercising it in small ways during their time together. Jinyoung liked to think that in some small part, he was the reason for some of that.

“I’m happy for you,” Jinyoung said, trying to mean it. “You got everything you wanted. You got your record deal. You got distance from him. You got New York. You really did it.”

Mark’s face went tight. Eyebrows drawing together. He looked down, busying himself with a salt shaker. He coughed. “Yeah,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Everything.”

Jinyoung opened his mouth, about to say something, but then the bell at the counter rang. Their order was ready. They stood up in unison. 

“Hey,” Jinyoung said, handing him two bags to take. “Let me know when you are free to do your interview.”

Mark took them, nodding. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”

\---

“What was that about today?” Jaebeom asked later that night on Jinyoung’s couch. “You and him disappeared for a while.”

Jinyoung shrugged, finishing his dinner that Jaebeom had picked up for them. Having had no energy to deny him this time. “He just needed an extra set of hands. I was the only one available.”

“What did you talk about with him?” Jaebeom looked down in his bowl, trying to sound nonchalant but Jinyoung could tell he was prying.

“Not much,” Jinyoung said. “Just normal stuff. About living here and stuff.”

Jaebeom looked back at him, eyes sharp. “Anything about me?”

“What?”

“I’m just curious.”

“No,” Jinyoung lied. Not wanting to have that conversation. “Nothing about you.”

Jaebeom’s face teetered between relief and disappointment. He put his bowl down, half eaten. “You know, if you are... trying for something with him, I would appreciate it if you tell me first.”

“Like what?” Jinyoung narrowed his eyes.

“I don’t know,” Jaebeom shrugged, innocently. “If you were trying to get with him or something.”

“Well, it’s not really up to me,” Jinyoung offered.

“So, you _are_ trying?”

“No,” Jinyoung scoffed. “I’m just saying. Even if I wanted to, he clearly doesn’t. So it’s not going to happen.”

“But what if he did?”

Jinyoung looked up at him. His eyes serious. “What’s this about, Jaebeom? What are you getting at?”

Jaebeom’s face looked tight and unsettled. He drew in a quick breath. “I don’t like the way that you look at him.” 

“How do I look at him?” 

“The same way you used to,” Jaebeom creased his brows, picking at something invisible on the knee of his jeans. “Like he’s the only one in the room.”

Jinyoung scoffed. “And you don’t?”

“Not anymore,” Jaebeom shook his head.

Jinyoung sighed, getting up from the couch and taking his bowl to the sink. “That’s not fair, Jaebeom,” he called, not looking at him. “I haven’t seen him for a year and a half. I’m not used to being around him like you are.”

“Surely, you must be aware of it,” Jaebeom stood up.

Jinyoung turned towards him, feeling anger rise in him. “What would you like me to do about it? Huh?” he threw his arms. “Stop looking at him?”

Jaebeom was quiet. He reached up, tucking his long hair behind his ears. “Forget it,” he sighed, walking to the bedroom.

Jinyoung felt a stab of remorse as he saw Jaebeom giving up so easily. He dropped his shoulders with a sigh, following him to the room.

Jaebeom was crawling up into bed. Putting a pillow over his head.

Jinyoung sighed, crawling into the other side. He lifted the pillow up. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Jaebeom was quiet. Eyes fixed on the wall.

“It’s hard being around him, sure,” he said. “But I understand that it can’t be easy for you either. Seeing us together. It must bring up some bad memories.”

Jaebeom didn’t speak. Just kept staring.

“I’ll try to remember to be more understanding of that,” he said. “But don’t be worried about anything happening between us,” Jinyoung shook his head. “He hates my guts just as much as he hates yours.”

“You don’t know that,” Jaebeom said.

Jinyoung felt his stomach twist. But he put the feeling away, refusing to read into it. He grabbed Jaebeom’s torso, hoisting him up until he was sitting. “Come here,” he said, leaning in to kiss him.

Jaebeom accepted it. Kissing him back. Not fierce or rushed. Just soft. Letting himself be soothed.

“You know you never denied it,” Jinyoung hummed, trailing his mouth down into his neck.

“Denied what?” Jaebeom whispered out, cocking his head to the side to grant Jinyoung better access.

Jinyoung’s hand came up, pushing his hair off of his neck. “When I suggested that you prefer getting fucked by me.”

Jaebeom’s shoulder drew up slightly, shivering. “You’re so cocky,” he breathed, a smile in his voice. “It’s really not as charming as you think it is.”

“Really?” Jinyoung laughed. “Maybe I have other charms then.”

“Prove it,” Jaebeom offered, before pushing Jinyoung down into the mattress.

\---

Jackson was next to be interviewed. He was gracious enough to come in early one day before recording started. They sat in the same plexiglass vocal booth. Jackson was a lot more open than Yugyeom. In fact, often giving too much information. Leading Jinyoung’s line of questions on tangents that he couldn’t control. And the notes felt a mile long only a few questions into the interview.

“How do you like recording?” Jinyoung double checked to make sure his phone was taping. Because surely, he wasn’t able to get all these details down by hand alone.

“It’s okay,” he shrugged. “To be honest, I would much rather be performing. I like meeting people. Connecting with fans. This recording stuff? It’s hard.”

“Hard how?” Jinyoung pressed.

Jackson licked his lips. “When we recorded our first major label album, it was our first winter in New York City. And the studios are all the same. They are dark and enclosed and you lose sight of your days and nights. It makes you go a little crazy.”

Jinyoung huffed, “I can see why you were looking forward to having me here.”

“Exactly,” Jackson smiled for a moment before falling back into the memory. “And there were a lot of personal issues going on behind the scenes that were affecting the group dynamic.”

“Like what?”

“Well,” Jackson raised his eyebrows “We were fresh out of that small town. Hopped up on our egos. And Mark was a mess. Jaebeom was an even bigger mess,” Jackson rolled his eyes, offhandedly. “As I’m sure you know.”

“No,” Jinyoung shook his head. “No, I don’t know.”

A flicker of movement caught both of their eyes. They glanced over, watching Mark come in. Dragging his feet over to the couch and laying down. Pulling his cap down over his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest, trying to fit in a nap before everyone else came in. Jinyoung looked back to Jackson.

Jackson kept looking at Mark. “That summer was really hard on him,” Jackson said. “Truthfully, he hasn’t quite been the same since then. Like yeah, he found his voice. Learned how to stand up for himself finally. And Yugyeom and I were happy for him in that way. But it was like he was trying to exercise that voice just to prove he could. He’d always be picking fights. Isolating himself. Not trusting anyone. It’s gotten better. Less aggressive, less erratic. But he’s still like that sometimes,” he turned to Jinyoung, voice a little softer. “You can see it, right?”

Jinyoung sighed, no longer taking notes. The end of his pen worked it’s way between his teeth unconsciously. “Yeah,” he nodded, not wanting to give too much of a reaction. “I see what you mean.” He pulled the pen from his mouth. “What about Jaebeom?”

Jackson shook his head. “After that summer? That man was a wreck,” he huffed. “I mean Yugyeom and I had wanted him and Mark to stop whatever they were doing for a long time. Because it wasn’t healthy. Maybe at some point it was, maybe in the beginning. But Jaebeom was controlling. And Mark was too vulnerable. And… well. You saw how it was.”

Jinyoung nodded. Not vocalizing, but agreeing.

“But when we came to New York, Mark pushed him away. It was like the ground had been pulled out from under him. He was crying when he thought we couldn’t hear him. He was trying to write all these letters, but Mark wouldn’t even look at them. If he hadn’t had the record deal to keep him up and running, we don’t really know what would have happened to him.”

And it hurt Jinyoung to think of Jaebeom like that. That same broken man who had cried in the alleyway with his hands fisted into Jinyoung’s shirt. The one that kept coming over, kept trying to relive the past with him. Because surely, Jaebeom had made mistakes. But Jinyoung knew more than anyone how it felt to lose Mark. And he wondered if Jaebeom was still that same broken man or if he had just gotten better at hiding it.

“Anyway,” Jackson shook his head. “We were trying to deal with all of that. And in doing so, we relied probably a bit too heavily on the help that was offered to us. Co-writers, producers, all the people that end up in album notes. And therefore, the record didn’t feel as… ours as we wanted.” He knitted his brows together. “So when we talked about what we wanted for this album, we wanted it to be more us. We wanted to be able to make decisions for ourselves. And that’s proving to be a completely different challenge.”

“How so?”

Jackson shrugged his shoulders. “You’d have to ask Jaebeom. He seems like the one who’s struggling the most.” He paused, before shaking himself. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have told you all that stuff,” his eyes widened. “This is all off the record, right?”

“Yeah, totally,” Jinyoung drew himself from his thoughts. “The article is about the music. I wouldn’t… I mean obviously-”

“It’s okay, Jinyoung,” Jackson stopped him, reaching out and putting a hand to his knee. “I know you’re a good guy. I mean. We’re all good guys, right? We just get caught up sometimes.”

“Right,” Jinyoung nodded. Turning that idea over in his mind.

Jackson’s focus suddenly went in another direction. “How’s Youngjae?”

Jinyoung was taken aback. “What?”

“Your friend. Youngjae,” he nodded. “Has he been good?”

Jinyoung’s mouth fell open, wavering. “Do you know him?”

Jackson’s eyes widened, looking cartoonishly hurt. “He never mentioned me?” He looked away, shoulders slumping. “Oh.”

And Jinyoung made a specific note on his paper to interview Youngjae about that.

\---

Jinyoung was walking up the block to the studio one day when a group of Girl Scouts parked outside the nearest bodega called out to him. “Would you help fund our troop by buying our cookies?”

And Jinyoung wasn’t a monster, so he bought a few boxes, bringing them to the studio. When he got there, the band was already hard at work. Claude was helping Jaebeom, Jackson, and Yugyeom flick through some effects on their pedals, trying to see if any caught their ears. 

Jinyoung set the boxes out on the desk, before sitting down on the sofa and getting to work.

Mark came out. His eyes took in Jinyoung in a glance before looking to the boxes. He pointed down to them. “Did you get these?”

Jinyoung nodded. “Yeah,” he shrugged. “They got me down the block. Help yourself.”

Mark huffed, popping open a box and grabbing a few.

“Can you bring me a couple?” Jinyoung asked, watching Mark’s arm flex under the sleeves of his shirt as he pulled open the wrapping.

“Yeah,” Mark said, grabbing a few between his fingers. He came over, dropping them into Jinyoung’s hand. Their fingers brushing together slightly.

Jinyoung tried not to relish how warm he felt. “Thanks.”

“Can I sit?” Mark pointed to the seat next to him on the sofa.

Jinyoung froze for a moment. “Yeah,” he nodded, making plenty of room for him. “Go ahead.”

Mark sat down, biting into a cookie, inspecting the cross-section of it. “You remember that boy scout uniform you wore at the festival?”

Jinyoung felt warm all over. “Yeah,” he huffed. “Remember how I got fired in that boy scout uniform? That must have looked weird.”

Mark laughed. And it was a beautiful sound. Genuine and bright. “Did Bambam keep those outfits?”

Jinyoung shook his head. “I don’t know,” he smiled. The moment fell silent. Jinyoung wasn’t sure if he should say it. But it came out anyway. “I still have the bandana though,” his hand went to the back of his neck, smoothing down the hair nervously.

Mark looked over, chewing halted. “Really?”

Jinyoung nodded, “Really.”

Mark looked at him. Eyes sparkling. The yellow light catching onto them. His chest growing wide when he drew in a breath.

“Mark!” Claude called. “Let’s transition to full band. Come on.”

Mark blinked, looking away. “Coming,” he called, getting up. He held up a cookie between his fingers. “Thanks, Jinyoung,” he offered, before putting it in his mouth and biting down.

“No problem,” Jinyoung called back, watching him leave. His eyes catching onto Jaebeom’s, his throat bobbing when he gulped

\---

“How’s the Big Apple?” Bambam asked, sitting on Jinyoung’s couch with a coffee mug in hand.

“Big,” Jinyoung nodded, warming his hands on his own mug. “Overwhelmingly so. Though it feels a little smaller now that you’re here.”

“I’ll take that as you missed me,” Bam smiled.

“I did,” Jinyoung nodded. “You and Youngjae both. It’s been a little lonely being on my own.”

Bambam took a sip, eyebrows creasing at the heat. “I have to admit,” he said. “I don’t think we loved the idea of you moving here by yourself.”

“I know,” Jinyoung looked down into his lap. “You didn’t have to say it. I could tell.”

“It’s just… you know,” Bam seemed hesitant to say it. “It wasn’t your best time. That summer.”

Jinyoung felt a tight, uneasy line running between his shoulders. “Probably not.”

“I think we wanted to visualize that after graduating, your next step would be forward,” he motioned. “But sometimes, it seems like coming here is a step back.”

Jinyoung was quiet, considering. “Yeah, I can see that.”

“And now,” Bam sighed. “You’re doing this story with the band...”

“It’s going well,” Jinyoung nodded. “It’s civil. Everyone respects each other.”

Bambam looked at him, eyes accustatory. “So it’s nothing more than that?”

Jinyoung looked back at him. Mouth opening. Trying to find the words. 

But before he could get them out, he heard the turning of his apartment’s lock. He felt a rush of panic move through him. He put the mug down on the coffee table, rushing to get up as the door opened.

Jaebeom looked up, stopping short in the doorway when he saw Bam on the couch.

Jinyoung slid towards him, grabbing for the edge of the door. “Hey,” he breathed.

“Hey,” Jaebeom said, eyes wide. “I’m sorry. I should have texted you first. Just thought we could do my interview.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, keeping his voice low. “It’s not the best time. Could you come over tonight?”

Jaebeom kept looking over Jinyoung’s shoulder. “Yeah,” he nodded. “I’ll let you know.”

“Okay,” Jinyoung waved. “See you then.”

“See ya,” Jaebeom turned back down the hall.

Jinyoung closed the door, locking it and resting his head against it momentarily. Not ready to turn around and face his friend. He drew in a deep breath, turning back towards the living room.

Bambam was looking at him. His posture was too straight. His eyes were too wide. “Anything you’d like to tell me?”

“About what?” Jinyoung played too dumb.

“Jinyoung,” Bambam said, carefully. “Why does Jaebeom Lim have a key to your apartment?”

Jinyoung shrugged, “I gave him one.” He came and sat back down on the couch, unable to meet Bam’s eyes.

“Are you… dating him?”

“No,” Jinyoung shook his head. “No way.”

“So…”

“We’re just,” Jinyoung felt his skin crawl from the awkwardness. “You know. He comes over sometimes and we hang out and-”

“You’re sleeping with him.”

“Yeah.”

Bam sat back onto the couch. His wide eyes blinking. “Wow,” he said. “So there _is_ something more to this article then?”

Jinyoung scoffed. “No,” he shook his head. “It was happening before the article. But it’s fine. It’s casual. We don’t take it too seriously.”

Bambam’s face didn’t lighten. “Didn’t see that coming. Have to admit,” he laughed slightly. “What does Mark think about that?”

Jinyoung looked back at him, face stilled.

“Oh, I see,” Bam nodded. “Wow. Ok, then.”

“I know it seems like a mess,” Jinyoung rushed to defend himself. “But I’m working on it.”

“Jinyoung,” he sighed. “The oldest roommate but definitely not the wisest.”

“Hey,” Jinyoung punched his arm. “Respect your elders.”

“Ow,” Bam yelped, rubbing his arm. “Just for that, you have to answer my question,” Bambam narrowed his eyes. “Tell me. What’s he like?”

“What’s who like?”

“Jaebeom,” Bambam urged. “You know. Indulge me.”

“Uh,” Jinyoung felt a flush of embarrassment. His hand going to his neck to try and quell it. “Well. As aggressive and hostile as you’d probably expect. In bed, that is. But you know. Other than that. He can cook well. Keeps the place clean. He’s ...kinda sweet when he’s not getting fucked.”

“When’s he’s not what?” Bambam’s eyes went wide.

“Ah,” Jinyoung screwed his eyes shut, holding his head in his hands. “Forget I said that.”

Bambam sunk deep into the couch. He shook his head in shock. Processing for a moment. “Wow. Nearly two years later and he’s still my dream man,” he murmured. “God. I hate you sometimes, Jinyoung.”

“Yeah, I know,” he sighed. Because sometimes, he hated himself too.

\---

“Sorry,” Jaebeom mumbled later that night while nipping Jinyoung’s lip. His strong hands pinning his shoulders to the wall. “About earlier. I should have texted you.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Jinyoung breathed, hands working at the fly of Jaebeom’s jeans. “Bam doesn’t get flustered by that kind of stuff.”

Jaebeom pulled Jinyoung’s shirt off, elbows caging him against the wall. “Is he living in the city now?” he bit into his neck.

Jinyoung groaned, fisting his hand down the front of Jaebeom’s pants. “For the next few months,” he murmured. “He got an internship.”

“He does fashion stuff, right?” Jaebeom asked, his hips kicking up towards Jinyoung’s hand.

“Yeah,” Jinyoung put a hand to his chest, pushing him away and looking into his eyes. “You remember him?”

“He’s memorable,” Jaebeom shrugged. “Come on.” He turned making his way toward the bedroom. He pulled his shirt over his head, casting it aside. He laid down, pulling Jinyoung over him forcefully before crawling up and reaching for the lube on the bedside table.

“Someone seems especially keen today,” Jinyoung commented, leaning over him as his hand returned to Jaebeom’s pants. Twisting his wrist around him. “Barely a minute in the door before you threw yourself at me.”

Jaebeom bit down on his lip. “So,” he gritted out. “I needed it earlier but you were with your friend.”

“You needed it?” Jinyoung smirked.

Jaebeom rolled his eyes, “Wanted it. Whatever.” He pushed Jinyoung down, sitting in his lap and undoing his pants. He started to slick Jinyoung up, leaning over and kissing him again.

Jinyoung’s hands went to Jaebeom’s hips and started to push his jeans down. “Do you want to be on your hands and knees?” he asked.

“No, it’s fine,” Jaebeom shook his head, kicking the jeans off. “I’ll ride you like this.”

“You sure?” Jinyoung questioned. Because they’d never done that before.

Jaebeom pulled back, looking down at him. “Is that okay?”

Jinyoung felt a wave of nerves come over him. But he couldn’t pinpoint why. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s fine.” 

Jinyoung had his eyes closed as Jaebeom rode him. His mind imagining narrower hips and inked ribs above him. Mark’s hands carding into his hair. The sheen of sweat on his chest. Beautiful and bright. He could feel himself heightening, getting closer and closer. And by the sounds falling from Jaebeom’s mouth, he was too.

“Hey,” Jinyoung heard him say, a hand coming up to the side of his face. “Look at me.”

The wave of nerves crashed again as Jinyoung involuntarily followed the order, opening his eyes and looking up at Jaebeom.

Jaebeom had his hand fisted around his cock. “Oh fuck,” he bit out. Hissing through his teeth. His eyebrows drawing together and his sharp eyes glazing. “Jinyoung,” he groaned before his face totally unraveled. He came against Jinyoung’s torso.

Jinyoung’s pulse skyrocketed. Because he’d never seen Jaebeom’s face when he came. And he surely never heard him moan his name before. He pushed himself back, sliding out of bed. “I’m gonna go shower real quick,” he said, skin on fire.

Jinyoung finished himself off in the shower, head leaned up against the cool tile. Mark’s face behind his eyelids, not Jaebeom’s. He sighed, humid air in his lungs as he washed the collective seed away and turned the water off. He wrapped a towel around his waist.

When he came out, Jaebeom was pulling his jeans back on. “Just let me get dressed and we can do the interview,” he said, reaching for his shirt.

“Uh,” Jinyoung’s grip around his towel tightened. “You know. I’m pretty tired. Maybe we can do it another time.”

“Are you sure?” Jaebeom pulled the shirt over his head.

“Yeah,” Jinyoung swallowed. “I think I just need to get some other work done. Alone.”

Jaebeom fell silent, his hips lopsided where he stood. “Okay,” he took a breath in. “I’ll head out then.” He started looking around in a daze, grabbing his socks off the bedroom floor. He went out to the living room to get his coat.

Jinyoung changed into some pajamas, coming back out. “I’ll see you on Monday. I’ll let you know what my schedule is like next week for the interview.”

Jaebeom pulled on his coat. “Okay,” he said. “Yeah. Just. Let me know. I’ll see you Monday.” 

After the door slammed, Jinyoung’s apartment felt quiet. Like the roar of the city wasn’t even really there anymore. Like all of New York had paused their days to give Jinyoung a moment of eerie, inescapable silence.

Jinyoung laid down in bed, playing it back. The look in Jaebeom’s face when he came. The sound of Jinyoung’s name in his mouth. Why had he done that? His head felt heavy with questions. He stared up at the ceiling as if it would offer some answers. 

Just then, his phone chimed. And he knew it was probably Jaebeom. Probably awkwardly taking back everything he did. He reached for it at his bedside table, looking to the screen.

_Mark Tuan_

He scrambled, sitting up and swiping open the message.

_Let’s do the interview tomorrow._


	3. ...rewriting

Jinyoung regretted getting a coffee while he waited. He’d thought about every detail considerably before picking the cafe a few blocks from his apartment. It was public. It was neutral. And he thought that maybe Mark would feel more comfortable opening up in a place where there were enough people around. Where it didn’t seem like Jinyoung was cornering him. And by getting himself a coffee, maybe Mark would get one too. And they could just pretend they are old friends catching up. But the caffeine was only heightening his nerves. Making his leg bounce and his hands fidget as he waited. Not the picture of calm collectedness that he wanted to portray.

Mark came right on time, looking around before spotting him at a table near the back.

“Hey,” he smiled politely. “Thanks for meeting me. I know it’s the weekend.” 

“It’s fine,” Jinyoung shook his head, looking up at him. “I appreciate you making time for this.” He watched him take the seat across from him. His face tight and uneasy already. “Do you want me to grab you anything before we get started?” he pointed up to the counter.

“No, no,” Mark shook his head. “It’s fine. I’m ready.” 

Jinyoung’s expectations already derailed. And it made him wonder why he bothered setting them anyway. Because they hadn’t helped him navigate his interactions with Mark once. He took out his notebook and his pen, getting into position.

“Before we start,” Mark said. Breathing deep. Like he was trying to gather himself. “I just wanted to say something.”

Jinyoung felt a million sharp pin pricks of nervousness graze his skin. And he cursed himself again for getting that stupid coffee. “Okay,” he nodded, reaching out to take another sip. Only to busy his hands. To keep them from visibly shaking.

Mark’s mouth twisted small. “There are a lot of things you know. Things I wouldn’t want people to know about. So I’d like you to be mindful of that. If you can.”

Jinyoung furrowed his brows. Did Mark think he would really do that? Air his dirty laundry for all to see? “I’d never put anything you didn’t want me to.”

Mark bit his lip. “Even if it meant not disclosing the truth?”

Jinyoung swallowed. “We’ll find the truth that you’re okay with telling me,” he nodded.

“I’m not too sure there is any,” he shrugged.

It didn’t bode well for the interview. But Jinyoung couldn’t let himself be deterred. This was his job. He had to find a way to open him up. “We’ll just try.”

Mark seemed unsure. He sighed, sitting up and leaning his elbows onto the table. He nodded. “Okay,” he said, softly under the hiss of the espresso machines and the chatter of the patrons. “Let’s try.”

Jinyoung had written a few questions down last night. Unable to sleep after getting Mark’s text. Too busy going over every possible scenario. He wanted to start with the most harmless questions he could. Things that may not even be useful for the article. Just to get Mark feeling comfortable. So they talked about living in New York City. About his apartment in Chelsea and why he picked to live there. They talked about the famous people he’d gotten to meet that past year. Who made him feel star struck. Who didn’t meet his expectations. And he watched Mark bloom. He watched him tell stories. He watched him actually laugh a few times as he recalled the good parts.

“Jackson lost the bet. So he went up to her,” he smiled. “And he asked her if the snake she was performing with was real. And, I swear, she looked at him like he was the biggest idiot she’d ever seen.”

Jinyoung laughed. Leaning his face into his hand and absentmindedly spinning his pen between his fingers. “You’re lucky she didn’t call security on you guys.”

Mark shrugged, shaking his head with a laugh. “Well, that’s probably why we aren’t getting invited back to the Fashion Week ever again.” 

And it just felt good. And Jinyoung wanted to keep him like this forever. Bright and happy and open. But he knew he couldn’t. “Can we…” he pursed his lips. “Can we shift gears a little? Talk about some of the music stuff?”

The brightness in Mark’s features dulled. Smile falling to nothing. He paused. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Yeah, we can do that.”

Jinyoung tried to start somewhere innocuous. “So,” he said. “What are you feeling inspired by for this new album?”

Mark took a deep breath in. “Living in the city is a big inspiration. Most of our first album was music we wrote before we got signed. So it still had a lot of that small town angst to it.”

“Mmm,” Jinyoung hummed. “I feel like a lot of fans related to that aspect of the album.”

“Maybe so,” Mark nodded. “But it’s hard. Touring and hearing the same songs every night. The same ones written about memories that aren’t relevant anymore. People you don’t feel like you are anymore. It’s just kinda like reliving your past over and over again.”

“Does Jaebeom writing the bulk of the lyrics have something to do with that?”

Mark sighed. “That’s too direct, Jinyoung.”

Jinyoung felt it like a blow to his chest. “Sorry,” he said, pulling back. Veering off onto another train of thought. “So you want to make an album that feels more like your present self. What does that mean to you? How do you see yourself now?”

Mark looked at him. Eyes wide. Mouth parting. A deer in headlights.

“Musically,” Jinyoung specified.

Mark closed his mouth. Blinking. Looking down. Taking his time to think. “I’m a rock drummer who was never around rock drummers much,” he said. “I didn’t come from this style of music. And when we started, it felt like a disadvantage of mine. So I just tried to create drum parts that fit into what I thought rock drumming should be.”

“What style of music did you come from?” Jinyoung scrawled down his notes.

“You know.”

Jinyoung looked up at him. “Just tell me. In your own words.”

Mark sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I started in orchestral percussion before switching to rock.”

“What was the cause for the switch?”

Mark looked at him. “Jinyoung,” he groaned slightly.

“Fine,” Jinyoung pulled back again. “You said you saw your musical background as a disadvantage when you started. What about now?”

Mark nodded. “I’m hoping it can be an advantage,” he said. “Something that sets me apart from others. Allows me to play a bigger role in how our music sounds. How our music is written.”

“Have you gotten to exercise that bigger role?” Jinyougn raised his eyebrows.

Mark whinced, “Not so far.” 

“Why not?”

Mark ran his hand against the back of his hair, restless. Thinking. “What do I say?” he looked at him.

Jinyoung ached for him. Seeing how much this was already drawing out of him. “Start with the truth,” he offered. “And we can work backwards from there.”

Mark bit his lips. Seeming to hold back. But after a few moments, he sighed. As if letting it go. “Because I have a very controlling frontman,” he said, earnestly. “Who is dead set on making all the decisions. For better or for worse.”

Jinyoung sat forward. “Do you feel like that’s unfair? Considering you have more professional training? A higher degree of musicianship?”

“Completely,” Mark shook his head. His voice picking up speed and strength, getting a little more heated with each sentence. “But he’s never seen me like that. To him, I’ve always been something pretty and soft and divine. He’s never taken me seriously.”

Jinyoung didn’t know what to say. He sat back, looking at him. Thinking.

Mark opened his mouth again. “To be completely honest with you, this whole process of recording so far has been awful,” he laughed, callously. “Jaebeom is usually the one with a plan. He usually knows exactly how he wants things to come together. But he has no idea what he’s doing. He has no idea what he wants the album to sound like. And it’s obvious to all of us but he refuses to just admit it and ask for help.”

Jinyoung creased his brows together, leaning in. “Why isn’t he admitting it? Wouldn’t it be better to open up about those things?”

Mark laughed again. “Because he’s Jaebeom,” he sneered. “He’s stubborn. And he’s proud. And he wants to be strong but he’s not. And he doesn’t know how to begin opening up and actually talking about anything.”

And it made Jinyoung think of the man he had come to know. How guarded he could be about his feelings. How he rushed to anger when he didn’t know what else to do. How he needed to be handled with the proper amount of care in order to bring his walls down. And Jinyoung had a thought. That maybe he’d become better than most at helping Jaebeom open up. 

Mark looked away, hissing through his teeth. “It’s like when I met him, I thought he was a god. I thought he was a genius. A visionary,” he said. “But I just deluded myself into thinking that because I was young and naive and hormonal. And I wanted to believe that someone as smart and amazing as him could fall in love with a person like me. I wanted to believe that I was worth that.”

“Mark,” Jinyoung said, softly.

Mark looked back up to Jinyoung. His eyes as fierce as his voice. Not able to stop. “And yet, what has it cost him?“ he asked. He shook his head. “Nothing. He’s gotten everything he wanted,” his voice choking up in his throat. “But me?” he raised his voice. “I’ve given up everything. Everything for someone who doesn’t see me as their equal. Who just wants to put me on a shelf and admire me. And it’s sick and it’s cruel and I resent him every single day for it.“

“Mark,” Jinyoung called a little firmer. He reached across the table, putting his hand over Mark’s instinctively. “It’s okay. Calm down.”

Mark froze, shaken. Looking down at Jinyoung’s hand over his. 

Jinyoung withdrew it. He looked around. Noticing the people who had stopped their conversations to stare. “I’m sorry,” he said, glancing up. “I shouldn’t have let you go there. I should have stopped you.”

Mark took a shaky breath. He looked down into his lap. “Can we go someplace else?” he said, softly.

Jinyoung hurt for him. Knowing this is exactly what he hadn’t wanted to happen. “Where do you want to go?” he asked.

Mark sighed. “Some place we can get a drink.”

“It's noon on a Sunday,” Jinyoung huffed. “Unless you want mimosas-”

“Do you live nearby?” Mark looked up at him.

Jinyoung stopped. Throat tightening up around his tongue. Consciously unclenching to speak. “A few blocks.”

“Do you have alcohol?” Mark’s eyebrows lifted slightly.

Jinyoung felt that caffeine coating every nerve ending. Making him buzz. He swallowed. “We could pick some up.”

“Then, let’s go,” Mark got up.

\---

They were silent as they walked. Mark deadened to nothing after his outburst. Lips sealed and face tight as they held their shoulders high in the winter cold. And Jinyoung didn’t know what to say or do. He wanted to tell him it was okay. He wanted to hold his hand. Kiss the look of anguish off his beautiful features. But he couldn’t. So he just walked alongside him, hands in the pockets of his coat, mirroring that silence.

They stopped at the bodega downstairs. “Do you still like whiskey?” Jinyoung asked, getting a bottle off the shelf.

“Yeah,” Mark said, plainly. “That’s fine.”

Jinyoung paid and they continued to his apartment. Silently walking through the lobby. Silently riding the elevator. Silently letting him in.

“Let me get your jacket,” Jinyoung offered.

And Mark gave it to him, looking around at the vaulted ceilings. “Do you still have someone come and clean?”

And Jinyoung paused. Mark’s jacket in his hand. Able to feel the warmth he’d left in it. “No,” he shook his head. “I do it myself.” A half truth.

“Hm,” Mark nodded. He went to go sit on the couch.

Jinyoung hung their coats. He got two glasses from the cupboard. He threw a couple of ice cubes into each, bringing them over to the coffee table. Breaking the seal of the bottle and pouring. He handed Mark a glass, leaving his on the table.

Mark eyed it, “You still don’t like it.” Not like a question, like an observation.

“No,” Jinyoung said. “But I’ll drink if it would make you feel better.”

Mark sipped from his glass, swallowing it down. And if it burned, he didn’t let it register on his face. “It’s fine,” he said, looking out the window. “You don’t have to.” His face still so placid. Stark white from the winter light reflecting off the snowy streets and flooding in.

Jinyoung sat there, watching him. Not knowing why he was there. Finally there. In the space that Jinyoung had been inhabiting for six lonely months. Hoping that it could be for the both of them one day. Dreaming of the day he could bring Mark home. But, not unlike his other plans, he never imagined it would be like this.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Mark said suddenly. Looking down into his glass. Spinning the contents. “It’s just... I don’t know how to answer those kinds of questions. About the past. About how I joined the band. About getting the deal.”

“Just tell me the truth,” Jinyoung said. Not sure if he was speaking as a journalist or something else.

“I can’t,” Mark said softly, shaking his head.

“Why can’t you?”

“Because how do I say that?” he looked up to the window again. Face strained. “How do I say that this whole band thing is a series of regrets that I’m trying to make the best of? How do I tell you that even though I thought getting the record deal and moving to the city would make me happy, would make everything better, it hasn’t. Because if anything, being here, being in the band, being alone… it just reminds me of the life I was supposed to have. The one I never let myself choose.”

Jinyoung watched him. The pain breaking on his face. All the self-hatred he carried around. Buried deep within himself. Where no one could see it. Where no one could reach it.

“I’m sorry,” he calmed. “I just… I never get to talk about this stuff. And you were always a good listener.” He sipped his drink again.

And logically, Jinyoung knew he shouldn’t pry. But he was too curious. And Mark was more open than he’d been in a long time. And Jinyoung couldn’t let that go without asking the question that had been weighing on him since he started the job. “You said,” he started, thinking back. “That first day in the studio. You said that I was a regret. Did you mean that? Do you regret it?” 

“Regret what?” Mark’s wide eyes flashed up at him.

Jinyoung shrugged. “Everything. Everything that happened that summer.”

“No,” he said, looking down into his drink. “I mean I regret some things. But not everything.”

And he didn’t want to push but he was too close. “Like what?”

Mark hesitated before his jaw set tight. Keeping him from forming the words. He tried again. “The last time we…,” he lost his voice mid-sentence, trailing off. He ran a hand through his hair. “You know. At the motel.” He took a sip.

Jinyoung felt his stomach stir. Not in a good way. In a nervous way. Remembering the way Mark had laid his hands on him. So different than any other time. So aggressive. So hateful. He drew in a breath. “Yeah. I know,” he agreed, feeling like the silence that ran between them was speaking for him. Watching the way it made Mark’s face crumple in shame. So the next words rushed out in protest, trying to offer a semblance of comfort. “But we were younger, Mark. We didn’t know how to handle it. How to end it properly.”

“That doesn’t excuse it,” Mark shook his head, reaching out and putting his drink down on the table. He sat forward, putting his elbows to his knees and looking off into the streets of the city. More silence. And in the light from outside the window, Jinyoung could have sworn he saw a shine in Mark’s eyes. “I think about it a lot. I think about how I can’t take that back. How I tainted something that was special.”

And it hurt, even in hearing Mark admit it. That it was something special. Even in that, it hurt. For Jinyoung could see all the pent up guilt coming out of him. And suddenly he felt like maybe this is why Mark had shown him so much animosity when he saw him again. Maybe he was a reminder of what Mark couldn’t take back. “It’s okay,” Jinyoung tried to soothe. “I don’t think of you any differently for it.”

Mark didn’t seem placated. He still wore too much across his beautiful face. “Sometimes,” he smiled for a moment, layering it with pain. “Sometimes, I think about getting a do-over.”

Jinyoung’s brows creased together. Not understanding. “A do-over?”

“Yeah,” he said, still fixated on the view out the window. “Like one more last time. Just to not leave that same taste in our mouths, you know?”

And Jinyoung was fairly sure he understood what Mark was suggesting now but the offhanded way in which he was suggesting it made him not so sure. It was hard to breathe as he worked up the words, the courage. “We could,” he offered.

Mark looked at him, any smile that had been there falling. Eyes big and round. “What?”

“I mean,” Jinyoung’s shoulders drew upwards. Feeling all too much weight bearing on these few moments. On these few words. “Like you said, we didn’t end things the right way then,” he tried to keep his voice from shaking. “We know how to now. So we could do that. Just once more. Make a new last time for us both to remember. One less regret.”

Mark’s stare drilled into him. Frozen. Thinking. So long that Jinyoung was about to break it up. Say something like he wasn’t serious. He was just kidding. Just to clear the air.

But then, Mark nodded. “Alright.”

Jinyoung felt his lungs collapse as the city went quiet. The world fading out like someone was twisting the volume knob down. Until all that was audible was the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. Mark’s backbeat roaring back to life within him.

Mark moved slowly, shifting himself closer on the couch. Each movement making Jinyoung’s heart pound louder until he was positive that Mark could hear it. Mark sat on his knees in front of him. Eyes wide and unsure. Lip worked between his teeth. More beautiful than every worn out memory that Jinyoung desperately clung to.

Mark leaned in, face hovering over Jinyoung’s. Not a breath being exchanged between them. Just stillness as they held them in. He closed the space, kissing him softly. Barely there.

Jinyoung felt the warmth of his mouth. Better than that from his jacket. Straight from the source. So delicate and hesitant. It made his whole head spin. 

Mark drew away slightly, looking into Jinyoung’s eyes for a moment before he pushed back in. But something in the angle wasn’t right and their teeth clicked together, making both of them jolt back.

“Sorry,” Mark said, awkward and shy.

“It’s okay,” Jinyoung urged.

Mark sighed, frustrated. “How did we do this before?”

Jinyoung tried to calm himself. “Here,” he reached out, putting a hand to Mark’s neck and feeling him go stiff underneath. “Let me try.” He looked into his eyes, asking permission.

Mark bit at his lip, thinking before nodding. He leaned his hands against Jinyoung’s chest. Drawing in a slow breath.

Jinyoung guided Mark’s lips to his. The long fingers on his chest splaying out a little more as that soft press deepened. Jinyoung craned his head to better compliment the shape of Mark’s perfect mouth. Opening up slightly before feeling Mark shudder under his hand.

“What’s wrong?” Jinyoung whispered, drawing back slightly.

Mark shook his head faintly. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this. Maybe this is stupid.”

Jinyoung felt a nagging pain in his chest. Aching for more but knowing it wasn’t his to take. “I mean, it’s up to you,” he said. “I want what you want.”

Mark’s breaths shook as they wafted across Jinyoung’s mouth. “We should…” he swallowed. “We should move this to your room.”

Jinyoung felt dizzy again. He nodded, grabbing Mark’s hands and drawing him up off the couch to pull him into his room where the blinds had been drawn, leaving it dim with gray light. No outside world imaginable. He sat down on the edge of the bed, his hands going to Mark’s hips to draw him between his legs. Looking up at him. Checking in.

Mark held his gaze. His mouth twisted up small. Chest rising and falling a little quicker than before. His fingers moved at a glacial pace as they went to the hem of his shirt. Gripping onto the fabric and slowly pulling it up his frame.

Jinyoung watched as the plane of radiant skin grew wider and wider. The black ink of his tattoos taut against his ribs. Everything about him a little closer to the version that Jinyoung had that summer. And he wanted nothing more than to run his hands up his body, rewriting each and every line, every shadow, everything. But he withheld a little longer. Just to be sure.

Mark pulled the shirt over his head, tossing it aside.

Jinyoung's hands went to his own shirt, fingers working into the top button.

Mark’s hands came up, eyeing them, “I can do it.”

Jinyoung held back his reaction, removing his hands and letting Mark’s long fingers maneuver around the buttons. Watching the intent focus in his eyes as he did. He licked his lips. “Has there been anyone?” he whispered. “Since me?”

“No,” Mark said, hands moving down his shirt.

“Not even him?” Jinyoung asked, knowing the answer. But wanting to hear it from his mouth.

Mark shook his head, slightly, “Not even him.” He paused. “What about you?”

Jinyoung felt his ears burn. “Me?”

“Yeah,” Mark said, still so intently focused on each button that he didn’t notice. “Has there been anyone else?”

And Jinyoung felt his stomach twist again. He didn’t want to lie. So his mind rushed to find some grain of truth to lean on. “No one comes close.”

Mark worked the last button apart, releasing his hands.

Jinyoung pulled the shirt off, letting it fall to the floor as he stood up. So close to Mark that their hips were nearly brushing. His hands curled into fists before he released them. “Can I touch you?”

Mark licked his lips. “Yeah.”

Jinyoung’s fingertips went to his torso, smoothing over the skin. Over his back, his shoulder blades, the straight line of his spine. To his sides where the ink met the ribs, remembering exactly which sharp corners of it swelled with scar tissue. To his firm chest that caved to his touch, the pulse beneath alive and quivering like a skittish rabbit. Resting his hands up against Mark’s neck where all that skin burned hot against them, feeling the way he trembled.

“Mark,” he murmured. “Are you okay? You’re shaking.”

Mark kept trembling. He nodded. “Just keep going.”

Jinyoung drew their faces together again, kissing him just as tenderly as before. Just as torturously slow. He felt Mark open up, brushing their tongues together. The taste of him was just as strong as the memory of it. Tinged with whiskey. Filling his mouth and clouding his mind as he took his time savoring it.

His hand trailed down his chest again, further and further down. Remembering the path down past his navel, to the point directly between his hips. The skin there so soft and warm that Jinyoung couldn’t help but run his knuckles over it. He gripped his fingers into the jeans, thumbing against the button.

Mark drew a sharp breath in before his throat gave out, whining into Jinyoung’s mouth. 

Jinyoung smiled. “Do you have something to say?” he whispered, pulling back slightly to look at him.

Mark smiled, the perfect white bite of his teeth reflecting back in the dimming light. A blush creeping up his ears and cheeks, dusting them bright pink. His dark eyes sparkling so bright that Jinyoung felt like he was staring into a star-kissed night sky, wishing on each and every star for more of this feeling.

The feeling he’d been chasing for months. Trying to recreate in Jaebeom. Trying to put into words through everything he ever wrote. But none of it compared. None of it mattered. Nothing mattered in this moment except how breathtakingly beautiful Mark was. “Come here,” he reached for his hands, pulling him forward to the bed. He took a seat, grabbing for Mark’s thighs and hoisting him into his lap. His hands carved up his body again, holding his face and drawing him in to kiss him again.

Mark’s mouth seemed to be remembering, grazing his teeth against Jinyoung’s lip lightly. His hands went to Jinyoung’s shoulders, fingertips pressing in as his hips started to grind down into him.

Jinyoung groaned, his lower lip held gently between Mark’s bite. His hand went down, knuckles dragging against the bulge in Mark’s jeans before his fingers clasped around it.

Mark’s hips kicked, grinding down again.

Jinyoung fingers went to the fly of Mark’s jeans, working the button open. Tugging the zipper down. Hearing those teeth come apart just as they both were. He grabbed Mark’s thighs again, picking him up and crawling onto the bed. Laying him down gently against the pillows.

Jinyoung hovered over him, looking into his eyes. Seeing all the mutual anticipation there. Sparkling bright. But something in him seemed to waver. And Jinyoung was unable to place what it was.

“Mark,” he whispered. “We can stop. We don’t have to.”

Mark blinked up at him. Mouth falling open. His hands going to Jinyoung’s neck. So warm. “No,” he breathed. “Don’t stop.”

Jinyoung didn’t need anymore convincing. He ducked down, kissing him again. His hands going to the waist of his jeans, fingers dipping into the sides. Pulling away to tug them down his hips and off his feet.

Mark spread out beneath him. That trace of a blush tinting his cheeks again.

Jinyoung's hands went to his thighs, pushing up into his lap and clasping around him. Starting to work him in his fist.

Mark’s hips tilted up into his hand, eyebrows drawing together at the feeling.

Jinyoung leaned over, grabbing the lube and coming back between his legs. Flattening out against the bed on his elbows. He spread it onto his fingers, bringing them forward to trace Mark’s entrance.

Mark shuddered through his exhale.

Jinyoung licked his lips before trailing open-mouthed kisses up Mark’s cock. Tongue lapping at the dripping precum leaking out. He guided Mark into his mouth, sliding down around him. Simultaneously, pushing a finger into him.

Mark moaned loud, before his hands clasped over his mouth.

Jinyoung laughed, pulling off momentarily, finger pressing up into him. “There’s no roommates anymore, Mark,” he said. “You can be loud.”

Mark uncovered his mouth, smiling down at Jinyoung as he watched him.

Jinyoung closed his mouth around him again, working his mouth and his hand, sliding another finger in when he started to loosen. Curling them inside until he could feel him tremble.

“Fuck, Jinyoung,” Mark panted.

Jinyoung had missed that song. That music. And he never wanted to have to try and replace it again.

Jinyoung pulled off of him, withdrawing his fingers. He sat up, sliding his own pants down his legs until he could kick them to the floor. He took the lube, spreading it on himself. Hovering between Mark’s legs.

Mark looked up at him. His dreamy and obscure face catching the grey light. His hand came up, fingers folding underneath Jinyoung’s chin. Thumb dragging his wet lips. He parted his mouth, smiling. “Jinyoung,” he said. Voice so warm and deep in his ears. “I want this.” 

Jinyoung couldn’t deny him any longer. He pushed into him. Feeling the tightness of his walls where no one else had been but him. He drew his hips back like an ocean drawing in on itself, before crashing down into him.

Mark moaned, body loosening and falling even more open underneath him.

Jinyoung kept going. Feeling the heat in his core pulsing outwards. Making his whole body ache and buzz like static electricity. He watched Mark’s face, mesmerized. Because he didn’t have to close his eyes. He didn’t have to try piecing him together with the stored up memories in his mind. Mark was there, writing new ones with him. Making new faces. New sounds. And Jinyoung captured every single one. 

“Come here,” he breathed, hands going to Mark’s sides and pulling him up into his lap. “Let me see you.” 

Mark’s hands went to his neck, drawing him in and kissing him. His tongue skirted behind his teeth. He groaned. Letting the taste of it mingle between them.

Jinyoung’s senses were flooded. He reached down, hand closing up around Mark’s cock. Working him as he rutted up into him. 

“Jinyoung,” Mark whimpered, voice getting higher.

He pulled his face away, watching the way Mark’s eyebrows drew together. His mouth fell open. The black of his eyes swallowed down those stars. And he was coming in Jinyoung’s arms, the skin pulled tight over every twitching muscle as he worked through it.

And Jinyoung was so transfixed on every little detail that he was caught off guard when he felt his body tense up too. Coming inside him. Looking into his eyes. Swallowed up just like those stars.

They stayed like that for a moment, breathing and staring. And Jinyoung was about to lean in and kiss him but Mark pulled away. 

“Lay down,” he said, calmly.

Jinyoung obliged, sliding out of Mark and laying himself down against the bed. He pulled Mark up onto his chest. Just like before. Exactly where he knew he liked to be.

Mark buried his face into his skin before beaming his wide smile up at him. His dark hair messy. His skin dewy. His eyes sparkling.

And Jinyoung smiled back. Knowing that no matter how much time had passed, the feeling that summer had instilled in him could never fade away. Because he still loved Mark just as deeply. And now, more than ever, there was no doubt in his mind that he would always love him.

Jinyoung breathed in deep, overwhelmed by his feelings. His fingers combed into Mark’s hair, smoothing it down. “You could stay here,” he whispered. “If you want.”

Mark’s face stilled. His eyes going distant. Smile faltering.

And it hit Jinyoung immediately. He knew he’d broken the spell.

“No,” Mark shook his head. “It’s fine. I should be getting home.” He started to draw away, getting up.

“Are you sure?” Jinyoung sat up, watching him reach for his jeans and pull them on. “I mean, it’s going to get late soon,” he tried to calm his voice. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“No,” Mark grabbed for his shirt. “It’s fine. Really.”

Jinyoung felt the panic grab hold of everything. Harkening back too closely to that motel room. Hadn’t that been the very memory they were trying to bury? He shook it away. His heart rising up into his throat. “Here,” he got up, grabbing for his pants. “Let me walk you out at least.”

Mark made his way to the front door, slipping his sneakers back on. Pulling on his jacket.

And Jinyoung just watched him. Half dressed and heart racing. Not knowing how to stop him.

Mark turned to Jinyoung. He took a deep breath. “Thank you,” he said, a polite smile against his mouth. “For this. I think it helped.”

Jinyoung was so confused by the way Mark was speaking. What had Jinyoung even helped him with? He was saying it as if Jinyoung had just tutored him for a test. Or gave him suggestions for a new phone. Something. Anything but what really had just happened. And Jinyoung couldn’t understand. Had he helped him remember why it didn't work? Helped him finally close this chapter for good? Helped him leave again? He desperately needed clarification but he knew he couldn’t ask for it.

“Sure, Mark,” he settled on, forcing a smile. “No problem.”

Mark reached for the door, opening it.

Jinyoung’s hand went to the edge, holding it open. Mind trying to will Mark to stay. To come back in. To crawl into bed with him and never leave.

He looked back. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

“Yeah,” Jinyoung said, fingers tightening around the door until he could feel his knuckles go white. “Tomorrow.”

Mark smiled, waving before heading back down the hallway.

Jinyoung watched until he turned out of sight. He shut the door slowly, pressing his back up against it and sliding down until he was sitting on the floor. Imagining Mark in his elevator, Mark in his lobby, Mark on the street outside his apartment. Moving further and further from this moment in time that they shared. That they’d never share again. And he cried.

\---

Jinyoung could feel the heaviness of his mixed feelings weighing on him as he came into the studio the next day. It had only been a few hours but Mark’s taste had already bittered on his tongue. His senses numbed at the way he felt in his arms. Mind replaying how Mark had walked out. Left him with no explanation.

Jinyoung sat on his couch, trying to work up his notes from Mark’s interview into something usable. But it just kept bringing the fresh memories back.

And he’d look up at him playing drums. His distant, distracted eyes rolling around in his head. Never looking over to Jinyoung. The way he stayed on the periphery of the conversations. Not picking fights. Not saying anything. His mouth small and quiet.

And it seemed to prove to Jinyoung what he already assumed. That Mark regretted what had happened yesterday. That it hadn’t solved his problem. Hadn’t reconciled that past regret but instead created a new one.

They were on break. Yugyeom and Jackson had gone out to get coffee. And Mark was nowhere to be found. And Jinyoung felt a shadow over him. He looked up.

“Hey,” Jaebeom said. “Can I come over tonight?”

Jinyoung felt his stomach turn. Thinking of the sheets that were still fresh with Mark’s scent. The couch where his ghost still sat. The whiskey glass where the melted ice had diluted the liquid until the shadow it cast against the coffee table was as a warm amber. “I don’t think tonight’s the best night,” he shook his head.

“Just to talk,” Jaebeom rushed to say. “I just want to talk.”

Jinyoung sighed. “Okay,” he nodded.

\---

Jinyoung had cleaned up the remnants of the glasses on the table. Put the whiskey on a tall shelf in a cupboard he never opened. Made his bed. Rearranged the pillows on the couch. But it all still felt touched by Mark in a way he couldn’t take back.

When Jaebeom came in that night, Jinyoung was blankly staring into his computer screen, words not able to come to him.

He glanced over his shoulder at him. “Hey,” he closed his laptop, putting it to the side.

“Hey,” Jaebeom shut the door. Taking off his coat. He sat down on the couch. In the same spot Mark had.

Jinyoung tried not to compare how much bigger Jaebeom looked in the space. How everything about him felt completely different. “You wanted to talk?”

“Yeah,” Jaebeom seemed immediately nervous. Smoothing his hair behind his ears. “I wanted to know how the article is coming along?”

Jinyoung sighed, “I hit a bit of a road block. But I’ll work past it.” Because what other choice did he have. “Why?”

“It’s just…” Jaebeom hesitated. He looked away. Biting into the flesh of his thumb. “I’m not feeling great about what’s going on in the studio.”

Jinyoung felt a little nervous. Did Jaebeom notice what was happening with him and Mark? Did he see the tension that had been there today? “In terms of what?”

“Just…” Jaebeom groaned. Struggling to find the words. “With the album. I don’t know if you noticed. But it isn’t going as smoothly as it ideally would.”

And it would have been funny if it wasn’t so sad. “Jaebeom,” he shook his head. “How could I not notice? You’ve written close to seventy unusable songs now. You’ve gone through four producers.” 

Jaebeom looked down into his hands, everything about him filling with shame.

Jinyoung felt himself working up. Thinking back to all those interviews he did. How Jaebeom’s stubbornness was affecting everyone. Making everyone frustrated with him. With the band. With everything. 

The words came up without thought. “I’ve interviewed all your members. And you know what they all say when I ask about how the album is going?” he asked, not waiting for a response. “They say you’re struggling and they don’t know why and you won’t talk to them.”

Jaebeom was quiet. Unable to look at him. Unable to say anything.

Jinyoung furrowed his brows. “I've been here the whole time. I’ve been asking you how it’s going. And you acted like it was fine,” he shook his head. “I just don’t get it. Why are you struggling so much with writing this album?”

“If I knew, don’t you think I’d fix it?” Jaebeom said quietly. A bite in it. Mirroring Jinyoung’s hostility. 

“You don’t know why?” Jinyoung’s eyebrows raised. “You have no idea?”

Jaebeom hesitated, shoulders drawing together. “I mean, I have some ideas but like-”

“Like what?” Jinyoung pushed.

Jaebeom groaned. Closing his eyes. His hands went to his ears as it shook his head. “Don’t really want to talk about it. I didn’t come here to talk about it.”

“Jaebeom,” Jinyoung called. He reached out. Gripping his hands around Jaebeom's wrists and pulling them away. “You can tell me.”

Jaebeom looked up at him. Eyes going wide. He swallowed. He held his breath. Taking his time. And when he spoke, his words were barely a mutter under his breath. “I’m not in love.”

“What?” Jinyoung’s eyes narrowed. Not sure he heard him right.

“I’m not in love,” he said a little louder. “And I’ve never written music while not being in love.”

Jinyoung was taken aback. He pulled his hands away. “But... Mark?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. Sounding nervous and defeated. “I don’t know… I don’t know if I really love him anymore.”

Jinyoung couldn’t process it. Because this was the picture of Jaebeom he’d always kept in his mind. The Jaebeom that loved Mark. More than someone should. And he suddenly felt like he was sitting with a stranger. “What happened?” he gaped.

“I don’t know,” Jaebeom shook his head. Unable to meet his eyes again. “I just… when I look at him. I don't feel the same way. I just ...I don’t feel anything.”

Jinyoung thought for a long time. He stood up. He started to pace. His hands wringing against his neck. Breathes seething out of him.

“Jinyoung,” Jaebeom rolled his eyes. “Come on. Talk to me.”

Jinyoung turned, looking at him. “We had sex,” he said. His voice sharp, accusatory. “You… you said my name.”

Jaebeom fell quiet again. His fingers fidgeting into his hair again. “Yeah,” he said, quietly.

“Why did you do that?” he stepped towards him.

Jaebeom sighed, ragged. “I don’t know,” he shook his head. “It just came out.”

“You wanted me to look at you,” Jinyoung pushed. “You _wanted_ to know it was me.”

Jaebeom thought for a moment. Before seeming to give up. He shrugged. “I guess. Maybe.”

Jinyoung stared him down. Glare penetrating him. “Are you…” he questioned out loud. “Are you in love with me?”

“No,” Jaebeom scoffed immediately. He squirming where he sat. Looking like his skin was crawling. He opened his mouth again. “I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Probably not. Not yet. I don’t know.”

Jinyoung’s stomach soured. “Jaebeom,” he sighed, dropping his shoulders. “Don’t tell me that.” Because he was already dealing with too much. He couldn’t do this right now.

“No, I’m not,” Jaebeom shook his head. “I’m not in…” he sighed, frustrated. “I’m not having this talk.” He stood up, making his way toward the door. 

Jinyoung felt all the frustration rise up in him. “Like hell you aren’t,” he roared. He reached out, grabbing the man’s shoulder. He shoved him into the wall, forearm bracing against his chest. Everything that he’d been keeping inside coming out in the ugliest way. “You don’t get to do that!” he yelled. “I thought we were on the same page. I thought we wanted the same thing. I thought we both wanted him. That’s why it worked. The only reason it worked.” 

“We did,” Jaebeom struggled, voice nearly whimpering as the words rushed out. “We wanted him. And we didn’t have him. And we put all that hurt into each other because we didn’t know what to do with it. But somewhere along the line, it changed.”

“How?” Jinyoung dug his elbow deeper into his chest.

“I don’t know!” Jaebeom cried, writhing under it. “Every time I looked at him, I felt less and less. Like he was fading out. And you were there. And you said it yourself. You said he hated you. That nothing was going to happen.” His chest rising and falling. His heartbeat quickening under the press of Jinyoung’s elbow. “And sometimes, I just ...like this.”

“Like what?” Jinyoung’s eyes narrowed, leaning into him even harder.

“This!” he weeped. “The idea of coming home to you. The idea of getting fucking by you. The idea of getting taken care of by you.”

Jinyoung felt paralyzed. His mind rushing. Trying to make sense of it.

“And I get it,” Jaebeom choked out. “You’re stubborn. And I’m stubborn too. And maybe that’s kept us from trying to move on from him,” he swallowed. Gasping for air. “But if you wanted to,” his voice softened. “If you wanted to, we could try.”

“Try what?” Jinyoung tried to breath. Chest as tight as Jaebeom’s sounded.

Jaebeom winced. Like the words hurt to get out. “To make this into something more.” 

Jinyoung released him, watching him slide slightly down the wall before he found his footing again. Watching him catch his breath. So hard that it looked like it burned his lungs.

Jaebeom raised his head, looking up into his eyes. He reached out. A hand going to Jinyoung’s face. “Say something,” he pleaded. “Please.”

Jinyoung took a deep breath. All that anger crashing back into the nothingness as suddenly as it was brought on. “Can I…” he took a breath. “Can I think about this?” he said softly. “I just have a lot going on. I need some time.”

Jaebeom looked hurt, eyes welling up. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Think about it.” He grabbed his coat, slowly putting it on.

Jinyoung watched. And all he could see was another person leaving. But a completely different feeling in it.

Jaebeom went to the door, hand on the knob.

“Jaebeom,” Jinyoung called.

He turned back, eyes round and wet.

Jinyoung hurt looking at him. “Thank you,” he said. “For being honest with me. I know it’s not easy. And it means a lot to have someone who’s honest.”

Jaebeom blinked back the gloss in his eyes. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Of course.” And he turned away, leaving.

\---

The next day Jinyoung was happy to not be in the studio. Instead, he went into the office. Meeting with Quinn to go over his progress so far.

“The stuff you sent in is looking good,” she offered positively. “How's the recording process going?” she asked, leaning back in her chair. “How's it sound?”

Jinyoung hesitated. Racking his brain for the words. “They aren’t quite there yet with the album,” he folded his hands in his lap. “They are struggling. They’ve had a lot of setbacks. A lot of extensions. And it’s been really hard on them.”

“Well,” Quinn shrugged. “I mean that’s both good and bad, right? Bad news is that you need to be there as long as they are there. You need to get the complete story. But the good news is that it could be really interesting to show their struggle.”

“Only if they come out victorious,” Jinyoung sighed.

“Do you think they will?” Quinn tilted her head.

Jinyoung pursed his lips. Thinking back to those interviews. The lack of communication between everyone. The resentment that Mark still held. And to last night. To all the confusing feelings that Jaebeom was trying to parse through. “I’m not sure,” he said, honestly.

“Yikes,” Quinn hissed through her teeth. “Well, if the cover has to be the quick rise and fall of Brainstorm, then we’ll make it work.” She sat forward, looking at him intently. “Just get the story. And keep up the good work.”

Jinyoung went back to his desk. Trying to make sense of it all. The article. His feelings for Mark. His feelings for Jaebeom. None of it making any sense. Realizing that this whole time, he was convincing himself that he had it under control. But maybe he’d never really had any kind of control.

He knew he wasn’t over Mark. He knew he couldn’t get over him. That bed they’d shared just two days ago still felt so fresh. So real. The realest thing he’d experienced in the past year. And there was no world where that wasn’t what he wanted.

But he thought of Jaebeom. He thought about the bond they’d built over the past few months. It wasn’t love. Jinyoung knew that. But he cared about him. He saw the good in him. Maybe more than anyone else did. And he hated that Jaebeom had to go and bring confusion there where there hadn’t been before.

But no matter how much he cared for Jaebeom, he knew what he needed to do. He needed to reach out and tell Jaebeom it was over. That he was only interested in Mark. That what they were doing was no longer serving them the way it may have in the past.

“Jinyoung!” someone called for him.

He looked up from his desk, meeting Alex’s eyes.

“Hey,” he forced a smile, putting away those thoughts.

“How’s the Brainstorm project going?” he asked, cheerily.

Jinyoung sighed. “It’s good. Really good. Couldn’t be better.”

Alex smiled. “Is that because I introduced you to Mark?” he smirked. “Or reintroduced, I guess,” he laughed. “I should have known. When I read that sample you wrote, it already sounded like you were in love with him. I figured the two of you could use a nudge.”

Jinyoung’s insides knotted together. He tried to keep it from showing on his face. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Thank you for that. It has been nice to ...reconnect with him.”

Alex was quiet. His mouth smiling wide. Eyes bright and knowing. “Oh, I see.”

Jinyoung rushed to his words. “No, I mean-”

“No, no,” Alex laughed. “It’s fine. A perk of the job, really,” he shrugged. “But I’ll warn you,” he got closer, keeping his voice down. “No breaking up until after you’re done writing. Trust me from experience. It gets real messy when you do.”

Jinyoung felt the blood rush to his face. Embarrassed and flustered. Unable to find the words. He collected himself. “Thank you, Alex,” he said. “I’ll remember that.”

Alex hit his shoulder with a wink. “You’re learning fast, kid. You’re gonna be just fine.” He waved to him, walking away. “Can’t wait to read the article.”

Jinyoung turned back towards his desk, burying his face in his hands and feeling the hot flush flowing into his cheeks. He was so embarrassed. He couldn't believe he inadvertently disclosed that he slept with Mark.

He pulled his face from his hands, staring back into his screen but unable to focus. Alex’s words ringing through his head. 

_No breaking up until after you’re done writing._

And he hated it when his mind automatically flashed to Jaebeom. Thinking about how he still had the frontman’s interview to do. And how Jaebeom still had the album to write. And how Jackson had explained what a mess Jaebeom was after Mark left. And he didn’t love Jaebeom. Not the way he should, but he also didn’t want to disrupt his life like that again.

And the words stuck with him until late into the day. Until after he went home, having written nothing new. Until the light faded into night in the view from his bed. Until his phone chimed and he looked to it.

_Lim Jaebeom_

He opened it.

_Hey, can I come by?_

Jinyoung sighed. He ached. He typed back the response.

_Maybe another night._


	4. ...revisiting

As the week came and Jinyoung continued watching and writing, there were a few times that it crossed his mind. The idea of talking to Mark. Pulling him aside at practice. Calling him in the evening. And there were a couple times where he had to bite his tongue to keep from doing so. When Mark would look his way for just a moment and Jinyoung couldn’t decode what was in it. But after the initial rush of the idea, the logic would set in. What could Jinyoung say? They had been clear. They had both said it. One more last time. And Jinyoung had no right to act like it was anything but that. Even though he couldn’t stop thinking that the encounter had felt more like a beginning than an end. And he desperately wanted to know if he was the only one feeling that.

There was one day when Mark was sitting on the carpet, replacing a drum head. And Jinyoung was working. The other members and Claude were having a meeting elsewhere because things had not been going well that day. Or any day really. And these were maybe the moments it was hardest. When they were alone. And the air always seemed thicker and the beat in Jinyoung’s ears a little louder. Overly conscious about every small movement he made.

“Hey,” Mark called to him.

Jinyoung looked up.

“I can’t unscrew this,” he beckoned to the drum. “Could you…” his voice trailed off in suggestion.

Jinyoung’s gaze fell down to Mark’s arms. The firmness underneath disguised under his hoodie. But Jinyoung still knew it was there. He drew in a breath. “Yeah,” he nodded, coming forward.

Mark handed him the multitool. “This one seems stuck,” he pointed to one of the tension rods that anchored the hoop to the drum.

Jinyoung knelt down. He put the tool to it, pursing his lips and applying pressure. Feeling it budge slightly before giving way. “There,” he breathed, handing back the tool.

“Thanks,” Mark continued, starting to unscrew the rest of them. “Can you pass me that head?” he pointed over to one laying of the carpet a few feet away.

Jinyoung stood up.

“What are you working on?” Mark asked, offhandedly.

Jinyoung grabbed the head, coming back over. Running his fingers across the edge passively as he fixated on where Mark’s nimble fingers worked. “Deadline for the article Monday.” 

“Will you make it okay?” Mark looked up at him.

Jinyoung shrugged. “I fell behind, but I’ll recover,” he nodded. “I think I just need to lock myself in my apartment for a day and get it done.”

Mark shook his hair out of his eyes. “Why did you fall behind?”

Jinyoung felt the itch of heat moving up the back of his neck. His fingers still nervously tracing the edge of the drum head in his hands. “It just,” he started. “It hasn’t been easy to write lately.”

Mark licked his lips. “Why not?”

Jinyoung knew it was the moment. If there was a moment. He knew this is when he could bring it up. But now that he was here, he felt himself shrinking away to nothing. Not wanting to hear Mark say the words he knew he’d likely hear. That it was nothing. That they were nothing. He sighed. “Here,” he said, offering the head.

Mark stared back, reaching up to take it. “Thanks.”

Jinyoung started to turn, going back to his laptop.

“Jinyoung,” Mark called out again.

And Jinyoung turned, looking at him. 

Mark’s fingers set the head into place. Eyes averted. “I just wanted to apologize,” he said. “For being harsh before. In the staircase and such.” He looked up at him. Eyes round and blinking. He took a breath. “I just want you to know that, back then, that summer, I wasn’t ever mad at you. Not really. I just…” he exhaled. “I was sick of being forced to make choices. It was stupid of me to direct resentment towards you.”

Jinyoung stood frozen. Because this wasn’t the conversation he’d been anticipating. A rehashing of the past. And he felt lost, knowing he needed to fill the silence. “I understand,” he said, unable to say anything more. 

Mark smiled but it was forced and insincere. “I’m glad we were able to clear the air last weekend,” he nodded.

And it almost felt like a joke. Because from Jinyoung’s perspective, the air had never been so murky. So fraught with mixed feelings and confusion and even more yearning than before. But Jinyoung couldn’t tell if he was the only one feeling that way. So he had to play along.

“Me too,” he said.

Mark sighed. “Well, I’ll leave you to it.” He looked back down to his drum, tuning the keys little by little. 

So Jinyoung just went back to his computer. Unable to type.

\---

It was later that week when Jinyoung came up again, but not in a way he expected.

Claude was doing some live tracking for the full band on something they’d been trying to make work for two weeks now. But it was obvious by all of their faces that it wasn’t working.

“Maybe we just need to add something else,” Jaebeom offered.

“You can’t add more garbage on garbage and hope it sounds better,” Jackson scoffed. “I think we should just squash it and move on.”

Jinyoung sat silent, watching the conversations unfold. Agreeing with Jackson. Feeling like this discourse had played out countless times over the past two weeks.

Jaeboem shook his head. “Why don’t we just try it,” he shrugged. “We could add some piano to the beginning. That might help it flow better into the chorus.”

Claude sighed, spinning on the stool he was sitting on. “Well then you guys would need a pianist.”

And they fell silent for a moment.

“Jinyoung knows a pianist!” Jackson exclaimed.

Jinyoung looked up, eyes going wide.

“Who’s Jinyoung?” Claude narrowed his eyes.

Everyone looked to Jinyoung.

“Oh, you,” Claude rolled his eyes. “Is he any good?”

“What?” Jinyoung spoke, unused to being the center of attention.

“Your pianist.”

Jackson spoke first. “He’s great. He could do it.”

“I thought you wanted to scrap the song,” Yugyeom quirked his brow.

“I mean,” Jackson shrugged. “We could try it. No harm in trying, right? We’ve gotten this far.”

Claude looked back to Jinyoung. “Could you get him here?”

Jinyoung took a breath. “Yeah,” he nodded. “I could give him a call.”

It wasn’t until everyone was packing up for the day and leaving that Jinyoung managed to catch Mark’s ear.

“Mark,” he murmured, close enough that the others wouldn’t hear. “Do you know how Jackson seems to know Youngjae?”

Mark’s eyes went wide. “You never heard about them?”

“Heard what?” Jinyoung shook his head. “What happened?”

Mark scoffed. “You don’t remember?”

Jinyoung rolled his eyes. “Well,” he shrugged. “I was a little preoccupied back then.”

Mark smiled. “Yeah,” he huffed, looking down. “You were.”

“Mark,” Yugyeom called from across the room. “Your drum tech is on the phone. He’s asking about what you need this weekend.”

Mark looked up at him. “I gotta take that.”

Jinyoung nodded. “Yeah. Of course.”

Mark took the phone from Yugyeom, heading somewhere quiet with it.

“What’s this weekend?” Jinyoung asked.

“There’s an award show,” Yugyeom said. “We are performing.”

\---

Jinyoung did what he told Mark he’d do. He spent all of Saturday working on the article. In various positions around his house. At his desk, in his bed, in his kitchen, on the couch. Trying to work and rework it. He’d been going since eight in the morning, only stopping to accept a food delivery. And at some point, he’d been sitting at his desk, so lost in perfecting, that when he looked up and noticed that the sky outside his windows was black. His phone chimed next to him, seizing his attention.

The name was the first thing he read. 

_Mark Tuan_

And that was enough to kick start his resting heart. Enough to pull him out of the work. But then he read the message.

_I wish you were here._

He dropped the phone onto the desk. Staring at it. At the words. His mind going static. Trying to place Mark’s voice in those words. Imagining his lips moving in sync with them. And the thought alone had him feeling weak. 

He picked the phone back up. Opening the message to reply. His fingers shaking over the keys.

_I could be._

He hovered over the send button. He stood up. Pacing around his room. Trying to calm himself. He hit send.

He laid on his bed. Staring up at the ceiling. Clutching the phone to his chest. Willing it to chime again. And then it did.

_I’m not in New York._

Jinyoung’s fingers flew to the keys.

_Where are you?_

He held the phone over him. Watching the ellipses spring up.

_I’m at this stupid party on Miami Beach._

Jinyoung smiled.

_I’ll come over._

A shorter flash of ellipses. 

_Jinyoung._

He smiled. Truly hearing Mark’s voice in the word. Remembering the way it had fallen from his mouth when he had curled his fingers inside of him in that very bed last weekend.

_Send me the details. I’ll be there before you fall asleep._

Jinyoung rushed. He didn’t pack a bag. Just a few essentials in his backpack. In the taxi ride to JFK, he bought a red-eye ticket. He couldn’t sleep during the flight. Watching the glimmer of stars against the black sky that looked close enough to touch. Thinking only of Mark’s eyes that he felt like he was flying into. And roughly four hours later, somewhere past one in the morning, Jinyoung pulled up to the Miami Beach hotel that Mark had sent him. 

As soon as his taxi pulled up, he heard the rumble of electronic music emanating from the hotel. Outside, women in sequined dresses and strappy heels strutted to and fro while men smoked cigars. Lambos and Lotuses filled the valet. And Jinyoung knew he was going to look out of place with his khakis with his wool coat draped over his arm despite the eighty-degree heat, but the feeling that Mark was so close pulled him into the hotel.

Through the windows of the lobby, Jinyoung could see the pool area illuminated in neon light and alive with dance music. Servers navigating around the clusters of beautiful people with multicolored drinks on their trays. He weaved his way towards it, following that violent bass and chatter of people. As he came closer to the entrance of the party, he saw the lines of red velvet rope leading up to the entrance of the party. A suited up bouncer standing proudly with an earpiece in his ear.

Jinyoung sighed. Faced, once again, with his mortal enemy. Security.

But knowing Mark had to be somewhere inside was enough to motivate him to press on. He walked up, casually. “Hey, man,” he said to the bouncer, trying to act natural. “Just squeezing in here.” He tried to maneuver himself past the entrance.

The bouncer put a hand to his chest, pushing him back a few steps with his fingertips. “Excuse me,” he said, quirking a brow. “Are you on the list?”

Jinyoung dropped his shoulders, thinking that all these guys were always the same. “I’m a journalist,” he reached into his backpack, pulling out his press pass from the magazine. “I’m covering the event.”

The bouncer looked at it quizzically, then back to him. “Nice try,” he huffed. “There’s no press allowed in the event. You’ll have to wait outside if you want to hound the talent.” He beckoned to the side.

Jinyoung looked over, seeing the small smattering of paparazzi huddled together. He dropped his shoulders with a sigh, knowing he needed to regroup and come up with another plan to get in. He was starting to turn away when he heard a voice shout out.

“He’s with me.”

Suddenly, he felt firm fingers wrapping around his wrist, tugging him into the party. His eyes went to the security guard, watching him shrug before returning to his post. He turned, focusing on where the fingers were wrapped and seeing a multitude of silver rings. He felt a twist in his gut. His eyes slowly traveling up to see broad shoulders and long dark hair turned away as they continued to weave their way through the crowd.

Heat flooded down Jinyoung’s ears and neck and the scar on his cheek began to faintly itch, as if it already knew it was about to be reopened. Because Jaebeom must know that Jinyoung would only show up uninvited for one reason. He tried to pull his wrist back, but Jaebeom's grasp was too strong to shake. Jinyoung looked around as they passed the pool. Eyes frantically searching, trying to catch Mark’s bright eyes. Because all he wanted was to be saved from Jaebeom’s impending wrath. But Mark was nowhere to be found.

Jaebeom dragged him further into the party. Into the bathroom, where the door slammed shut behind them, echoing in a way that made it clear they were the only ones there. Jaebeom pushed him up the nearest wall, fisting his hands into his shirt. 

Jinyoung could feel the bass of the party thumping against his back as he braced himself. Closing his eyes and waiting for the punch to land.

But that’s not what came.

Instead, it was the press of firm lips against his.

Jinyoung’s eyes shot open, seeing Jaebeom’s face close. His eyes shut. His teeth grazing his lips. The scent of alcohol and cigar smoke heavy on his breath.

“What are you doing here, Jinyoung?” Jaebeom hummed into the corner of his mouth. “Did you miss me that much?”

“Jaebeom,” Jinyoung sighed, his hands pressing into his chest.

“Had to chase me all the way down here to get a taste?” Jaebeom kept kissing him in quick succession.

Jinyoung felt Jaebeom’s hand reaching down, fingers clenching around the space between his legs. He gasped. Because of course it felt familiar and easy but it didn’t feel right. It wasn’t what Jinyoung wanted, what he came here for. He pushed hard against Jaebeom’s chest, watching him fall back a few steps. His eyes wide and mouth open in shock. And Jinyoung took the opening to slip out from under him and back through the door.

Jinyoung hustled away from the bathrooms, smoothing down his shirt and wiping away the remnants of Jaebeom’s lips from his mouth. He sighed, eyes closing in frustration before remembering his objective. Remembering the way Mark’s texts had sounded in his head. He pressed on, maneuvering around the party more carefully now. Knowing that he could run into Jaebeom again. Or Jackson or Yugyeom which would be hard to explain. So he kept his face low as he peeked around for Mark.

But he couldn’t find him. He just kept seeing the same faces over and over again. Wide, perfect smiles and expensive clothing. The heavy scent of fruity rum drinks emanating from their boisterous laughter. But Mark was in none of it. Jinyoung nearly wanted to give up. Everything too hot. Too loud. Hands going up and fisting into his hair. But as he did, everything started to fall silent. His mind dissociating from the chaos around him. The people and the music and the energy fell away. Until all that was left was the simplest feeling of a cool breeze against his back. He turned towards it, desperate for the relief it offered. The scent of the ocean filled his senses.

It drew Jinyoung closer. Had him following a bricked path that led out from the pool to the water. Each footfall kicked up a little bit grittier as more and more sand had blown across the bricks until Jinyoung reached the edge of the path. The white sand beach sprawling out in front of him. The neon lights from the pool flooding across it and fading into dark waves that crashed against the shore. It was empty. Bare and quiet. But as Jinyoung’s eyes swept across it, they fell on someone sitting with their back turned, staring into the pitch black horizon.

He felt his stomach stir. He kicked off his sneakers and stripped off his socks, carrying them between his fingers as he crossed over the beach. Feeling the sand getting caught in the upturn of his khakis but not caring. Understanding the reason he was drawn here, like a tide to the moon.

He walked up behind him. Watching his dark hair flutter in the wind coming off the water. He took a deep breath. “Is this seat taken?” he asked.

Mark’s shoulders turned away from the horizon, looking up into Jinyoung’s face. His eyes warming as they recognized the sight of him. The corners of his mouth tugging upward. “It’s all yours.”

“The party is back there you know,” Jinyoung sat on the cool sand, beckoning behind his shoulder. He put his things to the side.

Mark scoffed, rolling his eyes. “It was just a bunch of Instagram models anyway,” he leaned back onto his hands.

“How long have you been out here?”

“Since I texted you.” That upturned grin still brightening his features.

“Doing what?” Jinyoung felt it mirror in his own expression.

Mark shrugged. “Just thinking,” he said. “I wanted somewhere quiet to think.”

Jinyoung felt himself being drawn in closer. Unable to stop himself from leaning in until their shoulders and hips were nearly brushing. “Think about what?”

Mark looked back to the horizon. “A lot of stuff.”

“What about just now?” Jinyoung offered. “What were you thinking about?”

Mark laughed, shaking his head. “It’s stupid.” And the light was too low but Jinyoung was nearly sure there was a pink blush across his cheeks.

Jinyoung huffed. “What’s stupid is flying four hours to see your…” his words trailed off. Not able to place what Mark was. A friend? An ex? A crush? Something else?

Mark looked at him. Like he was waiting to find out too. 

Jinyoung’s tongue dragged between his teeth and lip. “Just tell me.”

Mark’s face got a little nervous. His eyes averting back to the sand. Passively drawing shapes with his fingers. “I was thinking about when we stood in that mirror in the motel room,” he said. “And you said that’s what love looked like.”

“I was so full of shit,” Jinyoung watched Mark’s fingers move through the sand. The way it parted to readily for him. Obedient to his will. Knowing the feeling.

Mark whipped his head toward him. “What do you mean?”

Jinyoung looked back up to him. “The things I used to say,” he felt embarrassed under Mark’s gaze. Under the unexpected candour of the conversation. He looked out towards the waves. “I think back now and roll my eyes. Why did I have to use such heavy words? What was I trying to prove?”

“That you loved me,” Mark said, almost taking offense.

“I guess,” he smiled at him.

Mark’s eyebrows drew together. “You don’t think you really loved me?”

“No,” Jinyoung shook his head. “Of course, I did.”

Mark seemed to relax slightly. “Then why are you trying to invalidate what you said then?”

“I’m not. I’m just,” he scoffed. “I don’t want to romanticize the past, Mark. I made mistakes.” He thought to himself, laughing. “Honestly, the other day when you apologized, it didn’t feel fair. Because I was the one trying to stop you from choosing that deal. Simply because I knew it would take you away from me. And yeah, I loved you. But love doesn’t excuse that. Being selfish. Being greedy. You should know that.”

Mark stayed silent. His face stilled in thought.

“What changed your mind?” Jinyoung asked.

“Hm?” he hummed.

“I mean,” Jinyoung shrugged. “When you left for New York, you said I never loved you. That I was just obsessed with you.”

“I wasn’t sure,” Mark said, almost to himself.

“But now you seem sure,” Jinyoung nodded. “What changed your mind?”

Mark quieted again. Fingers going into the sand. He shrugged. “Maybe I have rose-colored glasses on.”

Jinyoung could see the way Mark was actively trying to sort through it all. The way it was wearing on him. And he felt desperate to lighten the mood. He narrowed his eyes, peering around Mark’s face. “Where are they?” he asked. “I don’t see them.”

Mark looked at him for a moment before catching onto the joke. “God,” he smiled. “You’re still so lame.”

“Are they in your pockets?” Jinyoung reached out, feeling for Mark’s shirt.

“Stop,” Mark squealed. He tried to push Jinyoung’s hands away. The smile growing even wider. “Get away!” he got up, kicking up the sand as he ran down the beach.

“Come back here!” Jinyoung chased him on bare feet. Feeling the race in his heart as he sprinted after him. He closed in, reaching out until his hands could barely touch the edge of Mark’s shirt. He lunged, grabbing it. But Mark must have mistepped because he tripped and they both went toppling forward, rolling into the cool, damp sand. Mark caught himself first, bracing over Jinyoung. His smile wide and his chest rising and falling as they both giggled.

But the giggles falling from their mouths faded and all that was left was the breathing. And the staring. Mark’s dark eyes over him.

Jinyoung felt warmth seep down his back as if the sand was still retaining the Miami sun from the daytime. His eyes flicked to Mark’s mouth. Watching as it get closer as Mark leaned in. 

But as he did, Jinyoung smelled the alcohol on Mark’s breath. And it had something in him sinking immediately. Thinking back to the whiskey in the top shelf of his apartment and how it had tainted Mark’s taste. Thinking that maybe this was the only way Mark could really entertain the idea of Jinyoung in his life again. When his emotions were mixed and his judgements were impaired.

“Hey,” Jinyoung said, pushing at Mark’s chest and scooting himself away. He hesitated, watching the stillness of Mark’s face. “You should get some sleep.” 

Mark looked at him. Unmistakably disappointed. He swallowed. “Okay.” He got up slowly, extending his hand to help Jinyoung, but wobbling a little too much.

Jinyoung stood, reaching out to steady him. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Mark furrowed his brows. “I’m fine.”

“Do you want a ride?” Jinyoung asked.

Mark looked at him, confused.

Jinyoung turned, beckoning to his back. “Hop up,” he offered.

Mark smiled. He put his hands to Jinyoung’s shoulders. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” Jinyoung laughed, bracing himself. 

Mark climbed up onto his back, legs wrapping tightly around his middle.

Jinyoung adjusted him. “Let me get my things,” he hiked back across the sand, leaning over to grab and handed them to Mark. “Got em?”

Mark slung his backpack on his shoulders and gripped onto the shoes and coat, his hands knotting around Jinyoung again. “Got em,” he said, his chin securing onto Jinyoung’s shoulder.

Jinyoung smiled, feeling the warmth soak through his shirt. He hiked him higher. “Okay, direct me.”

Mark led him up a different path that went straight to the hotel lobby. Jinyoung tracked sand in as he walked barefoot across the marble toward the elevators. They reached Mark’s floor, walking down the hallway.

“This is me,” Mark pointed to the door.

Jinyoung crouched down, letting him off. “There you go.”

Mark stood at the door, handing him his backpack and shoes. His fingers gripping around his wool coat. 

Jinyoung looked to it, seeing how resistant he was to let it go.

“Jinyoung,” Mark looked up at him. “I-”

And Jinyoung‘s ears perked at the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. A small faint hum in the air. “It’s Jaebeom,” he rushed to say and backed himself into Mark’s door, trying to flatten out against it to hide.

Mark acted fast. “Here,” he pulled his key from his back pocket, opening the door quickly. He pushed Jinyoung into the dark room, tossing his coat in after him.

“Hey, Mark?” Jinyoung heard Jaebeom’s voice echo in the hall.

“Yeah,” Mark turned back, shutting the door behind him.

Jinyoung stood on the other side, ear pressed against to hear.

Jaebeom sighed. “Did you…” He seemed to hesitate. “Did you happen to see anyone you know back there? At the party?”

“What?”

“I-” Jaebeom sighed. “I thought I saw someone we knew. I was just wondering if you saw them.”

Mark tutted his tongue between his teeth, sounding annoyed. “You’re gonna have to be a lot clearer than that, Jaebeom. Who was it?”

Jaebeom was quiet for a moment. “Nevermind,” he rushed to say. “Forget about it,” he said as his footsteps moved away. “Remember,” he called, voice more distant now. “We meet in the lobby at noon tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mark said, turning back toward the door. “I’ll see you then.” He opened the door again, carefully coming in. And when the door shut, the bright light from the hallway just a line under the door. He let out a breath. “That was too close.”

Jinyoung felt himself smile a little in the darkness. Thinking how far away they both were from that small town yet still maneuvering around the same problems. But his mind immediately sprung up the differences. Mark didn’t want him like that anymore unless he was out of it. “I-I’m sorry,” Jinyoung stammered. “I should let you sleep.” He dropped his shoes to the floor, rushing to pull his sock on.

Mark reached forward, touching his arm. Stilling him.

Jinyoung looked up, eyes adjusting to the dark. Seeing the features of Mark’s face clear.

Mark shrugged. “You don’t have to go.”

Jinyoung swallowed.

Mark reached down, grabbing the coat off the floor. “Come lay down with me,” he urged. He trekked further into the dark room, folding the coat over a chair before crawling up into the bed.

Jinyoung followed with slow steps, standing at the edge of the bed. Watching Mark. Feeling the beat in his chest pick up.

“Come on,” Mark smiled, laying on his side.

Jinyoung breathed. Trying to calm himself. His brain moving a million miles a minute. But he tried to pump on the brakes. ‘Nothing has to happen. Just lay with him until he falls asleep. He’s drunk. He’ll probably pass out soon.’ And with that thought, Jinyoung eased his backpack off, setting it down before he crawled up towards Mark. He laid next to him. Facing each other like complimenting parenthesis.

Mark was smiling in the low light. His white teeth flashing back. He reached down, grabbing Jinyoung’s hand and holding it to his face. 

Jinyoung could feel the warm skin radiate. Unconsciously, his thumb ran over Mark’s lower lip.

Mark opened his mouth, teeth grating lightly the flesh.

Jinyoung’s breath hitched in his throat. He ached. He felt his resolve weaken. 

Mark must have read it on his face. He smiled. “Kiss me, Jinyoung,” he whispered.

And Jinyoung wanted to. He really, really did. But the sinking feeling in his chest told him he shouldn’t. He shook his head, “You’re just drunk.”

“I’m not,” Mark huffed.

Jinyoung drew his hand away, immediately missing Mark’s warmth. “You were drunk enough to text me,” he offered. “Get me to fly twelve-hundred miles to see you.”

“Okay, fair,” Mark rolled his eyes. “But that was _hours_ ago,” he groaned.

Jinyoung couldn’t help but laugh at him. He bit his lips. “Then, prove it to me,” he said. “Prove that you aren’t still drunk.”

“Fine,” Mark’s eyes held his. He sat up, facing Jinyoung. Crossing his legs and pushing his hair out of his face. “Mr. Journalist,” he sassed. “Give me questions that drunk me couldn’t answer.”

Jinyoung smirked. He sat up, crossing his legs until his knees were brushing Mark’s. “Hmmm,” he hummed, starting to think. He looked out towards the balcony, where the starry night sky met the charcoal waves. He smiled. “What was the first show you went to at the amphitheater?”

“Easy,” Mark scoffed. “New York Philharmonic.”

Jinyoung nodded. “Okay,” he thought. “What was the best birthday gift your parents ever got you?”

Mark smiled. “The treehouse. Obviously. You saw that thing. It was fucking awesome.”

Jinyoung laughed. “It was,” he nodded, unable to piece apart his memories from the objective truth. He pursed his lips. Thinking. His skin went warm. He looked at him. “What was I wearing the first time we kissed?”

“Mmm,” Mark hummed, raising his eyebrows. “Good one.” He tilted his head back, closing his eyes and pursing his lips. Trying to remember. He snapped his fingers. “A blue blazer that Bam made,” he widened his eyes. “And a striped tie.”

“Very good,” Jinyoung laughed. Thinking again. But this time the first thought that came to mind felt too candid. He struggled, not knowing if he should say it. But it worked its way out regardless. “When did I…” he bit his lips, “first tell you I loved you?”

Mark smiled, wide and radiant. “After I stayed over at your place for the first time. Begging me not to go home,” he teased, leaning closer and shaking his head.

“Okay,” Jinyoung laughed, pushing him away. “You’re definitely drunk.”

“No. Come on,” Mark groaned. “I swear I’m not,” he pouted. “Okay. Next question,” he urged. “The hardest one you got. Come on.”

Jinyoung barely had to think a moment before it came to him. “When did you realize you’d been in love with me that summer?”

Mark looked back at him. Smile falling away. Leaving only the remnant of it in his sparkling eyes. He drew in a deep breath, averting his eyes. “Jinyoung.”

He had that same feeling as last weekend. Like he was too close. All those thoughts, all those memories, all those questions that had made a home between his ears finally being addressed. “Tell me,” he urged. Needing to hear it. Even if all Mark had to say was that he never loved him. Even if it was that he had to know.

Mark looked back up at him, biting at his lips. At war with himself. “It should have been sooner,” he finally said. “And maybe it would have been. If I hadn’t spent all that time trying to deny it. But I guess I figured that it was never meant to be. It was doomed from the start. So what was the point in thinking like that?”

Jinyoung’s heart raced alive in his ears. Hearing the subtle suggestion. Even if it was buried underneath layers of pessimism.

Mark swallowed. “But last weekend,” he looked down to his knee. Drawing circles on it just like he had with the sand on the beach. “When you touched me. And I was shaking. It was because I realized. That you’d been right. That it really was love.”

Jinyoung couldn’t move. Couldn’t stop watching him. Trying to memorize every detail. 

Mark looked up. “Any more questions?”

And Jinyoung couldn’t help himself. “When did you realize you stopped loving me?”

Mark swallowed. “Trick question.”

“Why?” Jinyoung’s heart raced.

Mark shook his head. “I never stopped.”

Jinyoung felt the beat in his ears pounding so hard that he thought Mark must be able to hear it too. He looked down into his hands for a moment. “Well, there you go,” he said, looking back up at him. “Sober Mark would never say that.”

“What if he just did?” Mark whispered.

Jinyoung froze. Everything too quiet. Too important. Feeling the swell of his chest like those charcoal waves out the window. Rising and rising without curling, without breaking.

Mark bit at his lips again. “Will you kiss me now?” he asked, voice soft.

Jinyoung’s hands went to his face, drawing him closer and closer. Feeling that wave finally curl. And as his mouth met Mark’s, it crashed, flooding him with all those feelings he was always trying to restrain. Until he couldn’t hold them back anymore.

He felt Mark’s hands at his sides, dragging his body closer. Going up under his shirt and pushing it up him. 

Jinyoung let him take it off, drawing him back in by the nape of his neck and kissing him again. Still his usual unrelentingly soft but also eager with the rush of emotions compelling him to give more, to give everything.

Mark’s hands pushed him down onto the bed, knocking the both of them horizontal and straddling his hips and bracing himself over him. Not much different from how they’d toppled together onto the sandy beach, except closer now in every way. Mark’s teeth pulled at Jinyoung’s lower lip to lick inside. His hands tugging at the hem of his own shirt, breaking away to sit up and pull it off.

Jinyoung’s hands snaked across his body, smoothing over the planes of skin and landing at the jut of his hips. Tugging them down against his and grinding up into him.

Mark closed his eyes, whining. “God, I hate you,” he breathed.

Jinyoung laughed, arching up into him again and watching his brows come together in response. Feeling both of them tighten at the rush of friction. “No, you don’t,” he panted.

Mark leaned down kissing him again. “Don’t get cocky,” he murmured, giggling into the corner of his mouth. His lips moving down and into the side of his neck. Teething at the flesh there.

Jinyoung hissed, hips lifting into Mark more fervently now as the pleasure leached from Mark’s bite into his lap. Feeling his pants tighten unbearably against Mark’s own hardness.

Mark trailed his mouth down, landing a kiss on every inch. Each one and one feeling more sensitive than the last. He stopped at the button of Jinyoung’s pants, hands going up to undo them.

Jinyoung couldn’t help but work his hips up in encouragement. Wanting nothing but Mark’s hands and mouth to touch every inch of him. He watched Mark’s fingertips slip under the waist, working the pants down his hips. When they were far enough, he kicked them to the floor. Stretching out beneath Mark and watching his eyes rake up him. 

Mark’s fingers swept up the inside of his leg, making him shudder. They landed in the crease between his pelvis and his thigh. His thumb digging into the space. His lip tugging between his teeth as he watched it.

Jinyoung whimpered at the sensation, the slight pain mixing with everything else. He tried to sit up, but as soon as he did, Mark’s other hand was pushing his chest back down. Making him huff a frustrated sigh.

Mark’s hand worked itself up, ghosting over Jinyoung’s cock in favor of feeling over the curve where his torso sloped down between his hips. So insufferably close. Fingertips drawing shapes into the skin like that sand.

“Mark,” Jinyoung pleaded, squirming under his touch. “Please.”

“Please what?” Mark looked up at him, eyes bright.

Jinyoung sighed, smiling. “Anything.”

Mark’s hand trailed down, fitting his fingers around Jinyoung. Tugging upward.

Jinyoung watched. Watching as the clear precum dripped out at Mark’s beckoning onto his torso. Pooling itself against the skin. He opened his mouth but the sound trapped in his throat.

Mark worked his fingers down and up. Slowly dragging. Both of them watching it, transfixed. The way he kept leaking out. “God,” he scoffed. “You’re messy.”

The moan dragged itself out of Jinyoung that time.

Mark’s other hand came up, forefinger swiping across the pool. Watching the strings stretch when he pulled it away. Putting the finger underneath and pushing it up against Jinyoung’s entrance.

Jinyoung gasped. Feeling the slickness competing with the friction of Mark’s other hand. Getting lost between them.

Mark kept rubbing at it. “One day,” he hummed. “One day, I’ll fuck you again. Not like before. The right way.”

Jinyoung groaned. The promise of again taking everything from him. 

“But not this time,” Mark shook his head. “This time, I’m going to ride you.”

Mark pulled his hands away. He got up, going to his bag and coming back with the bottle of lube.

Jinyoung came forward, crawling to the edge of the bed and meeting him there. “Wait,” he curled his fingers into the loops of Mark’s jeans, pulling him closer.

Mark bent down, hand going to Jinyoung’s chin and raising it to his. He kissed him slowly, sliding their tongues together.

Jinyoung could smell himself on his fingers. Feel the smile against his mouth as he kissed him. Every little detail so good. He pulled away, tugging at his belt loops again. “Take them off,” he said. He laid back, watching him.

Mark’s bottom lip worked into his teeth as his hands combed down his own body until they got to the button of his jeans. Undoing them and starting to fold them down his hips.

And Jinyoung wanted to purely watch but he couldn’t help himself. Too caught up in the moment. He reached out, hands grabbing for him again and pulling him closer. Attaching his mouth to Mark’s hip bone.

Mark tried to push him back with a giggle, but Jinyoung wouldn’t relent.

Jinyoung’s hands pushed the rest of the denim down to the floor, hands wrapping around his thighs. His fingers feeling upward until they were touching at his entrance.

“Fuck,” Mark whimpered, closing his eyes.

Jinyoung pulled his mouth away. He took the lube from Mark’s hand. He took Mark’s arms and laced them around his shoulders. “Lean on me,” he nodded.

Mark’s eyebrows creased together in confusion. Waiting for what Jinyoung would do.

He uncapped the lube, squeezing it onto his fingers and returning them to Mark’s entrance. Circling it more firmly now.

Mark whimpered again, leaning forward into Jinyoung.

Jinyoung beared his weight, pressing his finger inside. He felt Mark tremble around him, holding him firmly with his other arm around his middle. He worked his finger into him. Feeling as he softened.

Mark kept sliding more and more of his weight around Jinyoung’s shoulders until his face was pressed into his neck. His breath heavy against his skin. “Another,” he panted.

And Jinyoung obliged, pressing another one into him and feeling him shudder again. Moving them in tandem. Working them up into him.

Mark whined into his neck, legs feeling like they might buckle. “Fuck, Jinyoung.” 

Jinyoung couldn’t help but smile, reaching a third up and wedging it alongside.

Mark groaned, pushing him down onto the bed. “I need you,” he whimpered, crawling over him. He slid himself over Jinyoung’s length. Spreading the slick of the lube onto him, so desperate.

Jinyoung reached for the lube again, handing it to him.

Mark took it, squeezing it to his hand and fisting it around Jinyoung.

Jinyoung moaned, his body reawakening to Mark’s touch. He arched up into him. 

Mark lined himself up, not hesisting before sinking himself down into Jinyoung’s hips. He maneuvered himself up before coming back down again, starting at a quickened pace.

Jinyoung’s hands went to his hips again, following his pace and thrusting up into him. Feeling the narrowness of his body, the sheen on his skin, the tremble of his bones. Taking pleasure in seeing how greedily he rode. How selfish he always got when they had sex. And Jinyoung knew that he never cared because he enjoyed watching Mark do this.

“Fuck,” Mark sighed again. “Ah,” he screwed his eyes shut.

Jinyoung’s grip went even firmer, working up into him. Everything hot and pounding through him.

Mark leaned over, kissing him. Burning hot hands against his neck. “You first,” he choked out.

“No way,” Jinyoung smiled, keeping the pace.

“Uh,” Mark whimpered, kissing into his neck. “Please, baby,” he begged. “Please. Cum first for me.”

And the pet name went in a straight line from his ear to his dick. Barely able to process it before he gasped. His whole body tightening and releasing into him.

And the heat of the climax coated him from his head to his toes, making him want to curl up. But as Mark rode it out and as it started to fade, Jinyoung felt Mark’s breath hitch against his neck. Heard him dissolve into whines and murmured curses. And he felt a different kind of warmth against his middle. He looked down, seeing Mark’s hand around his cock. Cum dripping down onto Jinyoung’s skin.

“Shit, Mark,” Jinyoung cursed, breathing hard and collapsing back against the bed.

Mark’s breath calmed but then his chest shook, giggling into Jinyoung’s neck and kissing at his frantic pulse. “I got you,” he teased.

“That definitely felt like cheating,” Jinyoung pouted.

“Maybe so,” Mark shrugged, sitting up and looking down at him. “But it was worth it.”

Jinyoung smiled. His eyes flicking down. “Could you…” his voice trailed off.

Mark followed his eyes. “Oh, yeah,” he nodded, reaching over and grabbing his shirt off the floor. “Here,” he cleaned off Jinyoung’s torso before tossing it away. “Much better,” he leaned forward, folding his hands against Jinyoung’s chest.

Jinyoung looked down at him. Seeing how incredibly beautiful he was in the afterglow. He felt the ache in his chest. Remembering last weekend. When Mark had laid on his chest just to pull away. He sighed. “Don’t tell me to leave,” he whispered.

Mark licked his lips. He shook his head. “I wasn’t going to.”

Jinyoung looked at him, pushing the hair off his face and letting his fingers smooth down his cheek. “But what about tomorrow?”

Mark sighed. “Let’s worry about it tomorrow.”

“Mark,” Jinyoung murmured. Remembering how that never worked for them the first time around.

“Just sleep, Jinyoung,” Mark urged. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

And there wasn’t forever in it, but there was right now. And that was more than Jinyoung had before. So he eased. Securing Mark tighter in his arms and weaving their legs together. Closing his eyes and relishing the weight of Mark on him. Feeling sleep grab hold of him, dragging him down into it.

\---

The light of the morning was flashing off the ocean and into Jinyoung’s eyes, rousing him from his sleep. He squinted against it, turning his head into the pillow to evade it. He looked up, blinking and trying to regain his vision. The image faded from white until he could clearly see Mark’s face. Lying on his side with his eyes open and staring. Tinges of purple underneath. His body not running as hot as Jinyoung remembered it did when he slept.

Jinyoung opened his mouth, working the words out of his sticky mouth and rough throat. “You didn’t sleep.”

Mark shook his head.

“Come here,” Jinyoung reached out, pulling him closer. Laying on his back and pulling Mark up onto him. Drawing his face close and kissing him. “What is it?”

Mark kissed him back. Both of them melting together for a moment before he pulled away, bracing himself over Jinyoung. Not saying anything. Just that same wide eyed look. The light in his eyes dulled by some variation of fear.

Jinyoung couldn’t put his finger on it. He sighed, sitting himself up and leaning back against the headboard and watching Mark sit across from him. “Alright,” he nodded. “I’m up. Talk to me.”

Mark exhaled. “Why did you come?” he asked, voice soft.

Jinyoung shook his head. “You know why. The same reason you invited me.”

Mark bit into his lips. “What do you want?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you want this to be?”

Jinyoung raised his shoulders. “Whatever you want,” he whispered, a hand reaching out to hold Mark’s face. “Whatever you’ll give me.”

“Jinyoung,” Mark whined, pulling his hand away.

He felt himself growing exasperated. Sleepy and yearning and not getting. “What do you want me to say?”

“The truth,” Mark urged.

Jinyoung shook his head. “I want the same thing I always wanted. To make you happy.”

Mark groaned, looking up at the ceiling.

“What?” Jinyoung’s face twisted up. Not liking Mark’s reaction.

“Jinyoung, I can't,” Mark sighed, losing his words before picking them back up. “I can’t offer you a-a .... a relationship right now.”

“Why not?”

“I’m still dealing with stuff,” he shrugged. “Residual stuff. Stuff you can’t help me with.”

And Jinyoung could see all of it. The resentment. The self-hatred. The stuff that bubbled under his surface and threatened those around him.

Mark sighed, leaning his elbow on his knee and putting his chin into hand. “And I don’t want to make it yours to deal with too.” He licked his lips. “You deserve a better version of me than this one.”

Jinyoung scoffed. “Stop thinking that you have to be so perfect,” he reached out again letting his fingers smooth up Mark’s arm. “You don’t. I don’t expect you to be.”

“Easy for you to say,” Mark huffed. 

Jinyoung’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“You’re perfect!”

“I’m not,” Jinyoung shook his head.

“Of course you are,” Mark murmured. He let their fingers fold together, watching how they fit together. “Perfect boy living in the city. Perfect job that he truly loves. Everything at his fingertips. Could have anyone he wanted.”

“But I want you,” Jinyoung urged, squeezing his hand.

Mark shrugged. “That just proves my point.”

Jinyoung's stomach turned. He didn’t like Mark saying that. Because he felt far from perfect when he thought about the way he’d treated Mark in the past. When he thought about the mistakes he had made. And kept making. The image of Jaebeom laying up in his bed biting back and making him feel nauseous.

He swallowed. “What can I do?”

“Nothing,” Mark sighed. “I just… I need some time.” 

And of course it wasn’t what Jinyoung wanted. But getting what he wanted never led him anywhere good. So he surrendered. Restraining himself. “Okay,” he nodded, drawing back his hand. “I can give you that.”

“In the meantime,” Mark bit at his lips. “Maybe we should try something different.”

“Like what?”

“Well,” Mark shrugged. “We’ve never been friends before. Maybe it’s time we try to be.”

“Just friends?” Jinyoung questioned.

“Yeah,” Mark nodded. “You know. For now.” He sighed. “Is that stupid?”

Jinyoung shook his head. “No,” he said. “No, we can do that.” 

Mark looked back at him, finally losing that fear in his eyes. Finally relaxing, a smile growing on his face.

And Jinyoung couldn’t help but study Mark in the morning light, bare and beautiful. And he wanted to push him down into the sheets but he couldn’t. “I should get going,” he said. “I got to get back to New York.”

“Don’t let me keep you from your work,” Mark laughed. “I’ve been greedy enough. With more than just your time.” A flirty lilt infecting his tone. He leaned forward, drawing his face close to kiss him.

Jinyoung pulled away. “Woah,” he smiled. “Last time I checked, friends don’t do that.”

Mark groaned again, rolling his eyes despite the smile still present. “Fine,” he pulled away.

Jinyoung got up, getting dressed and collecting his things. Watching Mark lay in bed, knowing that all he wanted to do is crawl back in with him. But knowing it wasn’t what Mark wanted to give him just yet.

“I’ll see you soon,” Mark looked up at him, smiling. “In New York.”

Jinyoung took one last look at him. Glowing in the morning light. “Yeah,” Jinyoung smiled. “You’ll see me soon.”

\---

It was only an elevator ride, down to the main lobby. That was the length of time it took for Jinyoung to realize what he had to do. As the doors opened up to the marble floors that he’d walked barefoot on hours before, he didn’t move. Instead, he let the doors close again as he sent out a text.

_What room are you in?_

When he knocked on the hotel room door, it opened quickly, like maybe Jaebeom had been waiting. “Hey,” the frontman breathed. 

“Hey.”

Jaebeom was quiet. He was still in his pajamas. Ones Jinyoung hadn’t seen before. Because he almost never brought pajamas to Jinyoung’s apartment, even when he intended to stay the night. His long hair was frazzled to the side, freshly finger raked. His face looked tired. Like maybe, like Mark, he hadn’t slept either. His heavy eyes unfocusing on Jinyoung’s face like he was getting lost in a thought for a moment.

Jinyoung cleared his throat. “Can I come in?”

Jaebeom shook himself back into the moment. “Yeah,” he turned, pushing the door open for him to catch.

Jinyoung followed him inside.

Jaebeom sat down on the edge of the bed, looking up at him. His brows creasing together. Tongue working into his cheek for a moment before the words came out, hushed and shy. “Where did you go last night?”

Jinyoung looked down to the table across from the bed. The tray with the coffee machine was messy from the remnants of Jaebeom making up a cup. Jinyoung started to pick up the trash and rearrange the small packets absentmindedly, just to busy his hands. “I was working,” he shrugged.

“You disappeared into thin air.”

Jinyoung didn’t stop, not looking up. “Yeah. Sorry,” he said, hoping to not give away the lie. “I was with someone from my work. They decided to head out to another event. I should have texted you. But I was drinking and it slipped my mind.” He looked back to the bed.

Jaebeom was fixated on Jinyoung’s hands, drawing his gaze back up towards his face. “Is that why you look like you barely slept last night?” he assessed. He got up, walking over to the bedside table and pulling a cigarette from the carton. He held it between his teeth, flicking his lighter. “Doesn’t explain you wearing the same clothes though.”

Jinyoung had the instinct to come forward and stop him. But he restrained, remembering this wasn’t his apartment. Thinking that he didn’t really know Jaebeom outside of that space. “I packed light.”

Jaebeom threw the lighter down, taking a long drag before blowing it out. “So, you didn’t come to see me,” his brows flicked up.

“No,” Jinyoung said, feeling the secondhand smoke fill his lungs and cloud his thoughts. “Not exactly.”

Jaebeom sat back down on the bed, taking another drag before speaking. “Why’d you come to my room?”

Jinyoung swallowed. “I wanted to talk.”

Jaebeom’s eyes drilled into him. That sharpness that Jinyoung hadn’t seen in awhile. He leaned his elbows onto his knees. “Then talk.”

Jinyoung licked his lips, working himself up to speak. He paced over to the glass door of the balcony, looking out at the view of the Atlantic. “I thought about what you said,” he said carefully. “About trying to make this into something more.” He turned back, looking at him.

“Uh huh,” Jaebeom hummed around his cigarette. 

“And…” he sighed. No better way to put it. “I don’t ...want to do what we’re doing anymore.”

Jaebeom’s face went pale. The cigarette hanging between his open lips, nearly dropping. Forgotten. “What?” he murmured.

Jinyoung felt awkward. Folding his hands over his chest and feeling the sudden uptick in his heart rate. “I don’t…” he stammered. “I don’t want to have sex anymore.”

Jaebeom was silent. Looking at him. Sharp eyes and smoke emanating from his open mouth. He blinked, looking away. He took a few drags before withdrawing the cigarette from his lips. He got up, brushing past Jinyoung and opening the door to the balcony. 

Jinyoung followed him. Watching from the doorway as he looked out over the ocean. Cigarette burning away between his knuckles as they braced against the railing. He came forward, looking out over the ledge with him.

“Jinyoung,” he said, quietly. Voice almost getting lost in the wind.

Jinyoung turned and saw him squinting back in the sunlight. 

Jaebeom opened his mouth, hesisting around the words. “It’s okay if you don’t have feelings for me,” he shook his head. “You don’t have to stop sleeping with me.” 

Jinyoung felt the disgust twisting into his stomach. Not at Jaebeom’s proposition but at the way he so easily devalued himself. “Jaebeom,” he winced, his hands wringing against the metal.

“I’m serious,” Jaebeom took a step closer. He put a hand to Jinyoung’s face, two fingers leaned away to keep the cigarette from touching him “We don’t have to stop,” he shrugged. “I can handle it.”

Jinyoung’s face contorted at the idea. “No,” he shook him away. “I don’t want that.”

Jaebeom dropped his hand. Looking at him. Trying to read him. “What do you want?” he asked.

Jinyoung pursed his lips. “I want to be your friend.”

Jaebeom scoffed. “We’ve never been friends.”

“Then maybe it’s time we try,” he shrugged. “Because I want to be there for you. But I don’t think we want the same things anymore. And therefore, I don’t think we should continue sleeping together.”

Jaebeom shook his head. He took another drag, cigarette much shorter now. Lips tight when he spoke. “You’re taking this too seriously,” he huffed out.

The way he brushed it off made Jinyoung prickle. “Am I?” he asked, feeling himself getting worked up. “Cause you were the one who said you wanted this to be more serious.”

Jaebeom smiled, callous and insincere. “I’m not your boyfriend, Jinyoung,” he snubbed the end of the cigarette into the metal. “You don’t have to break up with me,” he turned, going back inside. 

Jinyoung scoffed, following him. “Don’t be childish,” he called after him.

Jaebeom went to the bedside table, grabbing another cigarette from the carton. “Then don’t treat me like a child,” he said. He put it between his teeth, sparking his lighter.

“I’m not,” Jinyoung went to him, plucking it from his mouth before it could light and throwing it down. “I’m telling you exactly what I want. It’s not my fault it’s not what you want to hear.”

Jaebeom gritted his teeth, glaring at him. “What I want to hear is the real reason you came all the way down here from New York.”

And in the heat of the moment, the truth nearly spilled out his mouth. But he restrained himself. Tightening his fists and his jaw. “I told you,” he narrowed his eyes. “I came for work.”

Jaebeom huffed again, his smirk drawing up on one side. “You must be a good journalist, Jinyoung, because you always stick to your story.”

“God, you’re irritating,” Jinyoung turned away.

But he felt the wrapping of fingers around his wrist yanking him back before backing him into the desk with a thud.

Jaebeom leaned in close, hands bracing on either side. His voice coming out low and husky. His breath drenched with smoke. “Can’t you just admit that you came down here to see me?” he crooned, a finger going to raise up Jinyoung’s chin.

And looking straight into Jaebeom’s eyes, Jinyoung could see the story that Jaebeom had willed himself to believe. That he was in love with Jinyoung. That Jinyoung felt the same way. Because that was so much easier to accept than the truth. The truth of what they’d been doing for so long that it lost whatever convoluted purpose it had started with. And Jinyoung, in the moment, could see nothing but that boy with the mullet and the silver drenched ears who kept dragging Mark away from him. Until he was dragging him to New York. Leaving Mark and Jinyoung in the place they were now. And it made his blood simmer with resentment. 

He scowled. “He was right about you,” he said under his breath.

Jaebeom’s eyes turned wide. Any hint of a smirk falling in an instant. His fingers stilled against Jinyoung’s chin. “What?”

Jinyoung felt that simmer rising in him. “That summer. He told me. And I didn’t know whether or not to believe him. But now I know exactly what he meant.”

Jaebeom’s chest fell, losing a breath. “What? What did he say?” he rushed.

Jinyoung felt it all well up. The heat pricking against his neck. “That you’re delusional,” he spat, pushing Jaebeom’s chest away forcefully and watching him regress a couple steps backward. “And it’s true. You deluded yourself into thinking Mark loved you when he didn’t. When he was falling in love with _me._ Now you’re doing the same thing all over again.”

It must have caught Jaebeom by surprise. His eyes were wide and filled with hurt. His broad shoulders sunken together.

Jinyoung smoothed his hands over his neck, quelling back down. Taking a breath to relax himself. “I’m sorry.”

Jaebeom’s hand went up to his face, rubbing roughly at his eyes. He seethed out a breath. “Get out,” he said, offhandedly.

“Jaebeom,” Jinyoung’s shoulders sank. “No. I just meant-”

“No,” Jaebeom shook his head. “I heard you loud and clear. Now, get out.”

Jinyoung thought about protesting. But he could see that the fight had drained out of Jaebeom. And he himself didn’t have enough in him to drag it on. He licked his lips. “I’ll see you in New York, Jaebeom,” he murmured before finding his way out.


	5. ...reopening

Jinyoung wasn’t even gone twenty-four hours but the New York City he returned to seemed different. Felt different. As if maybe that lingering hint of whatever warmth he had managed to unearth in Miami had stowed away with him. The snow that had lingered in one big blanket seemed to have melted and flushed away. And the trees in the Central Park had buds poking through, reaching for newly found sunlight. The grass a shade of green that made it seem like it was taking its first breath after a long and unforgiving winter. Or maybe it had happened slower than it seemed. Maybe Jinyoung was just noticing it now.

He looked out the window of his apartment, seeing the streets more crowded than they’d been in months. A general lightness in the steps of each person. He kept watching as he cradled his phone against his shoulder. “They asked specifically for you.”

“Me?” Youngjae choked out over the speaker. “What do they want with me?”

Jinyoung shrugged. “They need a pianist. Your name was brought up.”

“By who?” Youngjae questioned. Something challenging in his tone.

Jinyoung tried to keep the smile out of his voice. “You get one guess. Make it count.”

There was a silence. For so long that Jinyoung had to look at the phone and make sure they were still connected. And then a long drawn scoff.

Jinyoung laughed at his expense. “You have some explaining to do.”

More silence. Then the boy’s voice came through muffled, like he was headfirst in a pillow. “Can I explain when I’m there?”

Jinyoung sighed. “You know I hate waiting,” he pouted.

“It’s been nearly two years. You can wait a little longer.”

\---

Jinyoung was already at the studio when the wooden church door knocked. Claude looking up from his conversation to draw his eyebrows together at the sound.

Jinyoung jumped up. “I can get it,” he said, going for the door. When he opened it, there Youngjae was. A breath of spring air. And while the boyish features that Jinyoung had remembered had started to strengthen in their time apart, he still had the same wide smile across his face that Jinyoung was so fond of.

“You made it,” he drew the man in with a hug.

Youngjae patted his back. “Yes, I’m here, I’m here.” 

When Jinyoung pulled away, he saw that the smile across Youngjae’s face had turned reluctant. “Are you nervous?”

“Fuck yeah, I’m nervous,” his eyebrows furrowed. “Biggest newcomer band really wants me to play piano?”

“You’re a friend,” Jinyoung shrugged before smiling. “Or whatever you are to Jackson.”

Youngjae scoffed loud, rolling his eyes. “Please, stop.”

“Not until you tell me,” Jinyoung taunted.

Youngjae folded his arms over his chest. “Are you gonna let me in or what?”

Jinyoung sighed. “Fine.” He stepped aside to let him pass. “Come on.” He drew his friend into the studio, watching him look around with wide eyes.

“Youngjae!” 

The two of them turned, seeing Jackson come up and throw both arms around him. “It’s so good to see you.” He held him close, tightening his arms.

Youngjae stood in his arms, frozen. Eyes wide and stunned. Wincing as he was squeezed.

Jinyoung blinked as the hug maintained for longer than expected. He turned his head, meeting Mark’s eyes across the room. He was staring too but then looked to Jinyoung before both of them buttoned their mouths to keep from laughing aloud.

“Jackson,” Mark called out. “Let the man breathe.”

Jackson stepped back. “Sorry,” he smiled, shyily. “It’s just… it’s been awhile. How have you been? You look great.”

Youngjae struggled to maintain eye contact, roaming around the room as if looking for a distraction. “Thanks, man. I’m good,” he nodded. “Just. You know.”

“Come on, boys,” Claude scoffed from his place. “Is he here to chat or to play piano?”

After that, the band started working again. Setting Youngjae up while they showed him what they had so far. Claude and him discussing some details before they tried to outline a few ideas. Jaebeom seemed uneasy as they showed him some options. Indecisive about what he wanted. Giving suggestions but unable to voice a steady opinion.

And they had been trying at it for nearly three hours before Youngjae spoke up. “Hey,” he turned to Claude. “Maybe I could take them aside for a little while and chat about this. Without you.”

Claude sighed, seeming exhausted and frustrated with the lack of progress. “Fine,” he said. “Maybe you’ll have better luck talking to them than me. Look. We are almost done for the day, so I’ll just head out. See you boys later.”

The band huddled around Youngjae’s piano as he spoke to them. And Jinyoung tried to listen but all he could hear was the way Youngjae was keeping his voice down, trying not to be overheard. The band members responded in equally low tones. All of them looking to Jaebeom out of the corners of their eyes, trying to read him. But the frontman’s face was placid and paled under the yellow church lights. Nodding along with what Youngjae was saying. And they talked like this for what felt like ages, until they broke away, going to pack up their things.

Jinyoung started to pack up his bag, coming around to where Mark was kneeled, breaking down part of his kit and covering the drums.

“What was that all about?” he said, voice low.

Mark huffed, hands untightening the drum heads. “Youngjae really doesn’t mince his words, does he?”

“Unfortunately,” Jinyoung sighed, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Why? What did he say?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Mark waved him away. “Another time and place.”

“Come on,” Jinyoung pouted. “Don’t make me wait.”

Mark looked back up at him, smirk growing on his face. “You can wait,” he said softly, eyes catching the light. “After all, the waiting makes it worth it, don’t you think?”

And Jinyoung definitely felt like it wasn’t about what Youngjae said anymore. He stared down at Mark, his chest filling with a breath as he couldn’t pull his eyes away. “It certainly makes me want it more,” he smiled.

Mark’s pointed teeth shown back, white and brilliant. “Good,” he dug those teeth into his lower lip before speaking again. “I like you eager.”

Jinyoung felt the warmth seep through him. And he had the perfect retort on the tip of his tongue when a voice drew him away.

“Jinyoung!” Youngjae walked up to them. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, pulling his focus away from Mark. “Let me just-”

“Thanks for all your help today, Youngjae,” Mark offered, standing. “I really appreciate you coming out here to do this.”

“Oh,” Youngjae waved him away. “It’s fine. I’m just glad you guys thought of me.” He hesitated. Body language growing awkward. Tucking his hands together under the sleeves of his sweater. “By the way,” he started. “I wanted to apologize. I know the last time we saw each other, I was pretty harsh on you. And I’m sorry about that. I hope there’s no hard feelings there.”

“No hard feelings,” Mark shook his head. “We were different people then.”

“Yeah, we were,” Youngjae nodded. “If only your guitarist realized-”

“Good session today, Youngjae,” Jackson came up putting a hand to his lower back.

Youngjae turned, his mouth falling open but the words not coming out.

Jinyoung pursed his lips, looking between them. “Should I leave you two to talk?”

“No.” “Yes.” Both of their mouths spoke at the same time. Youngjae’s eyes wide and panicked while Jackson was still smiling.

Youngjae took in a big breath, pulling away. “Jinyoung and I actually had some plans,” he looked at his watch. “But maybe we can catch up another time?” he smiled politely.

Jackson nodded, a smile growing wide across his big features. “I’ll hold you to that,” he said. “We could grab drinks. On me.”

“Yeah. We’ll see,” Youngjae nodded. He turned back to Jinyoung, eyes wide with a concealed message. “You ready to go, Jinyoung?”

Jinyoung couldn’t help but smile at his friend’s expense as he watched it play out. “Yeah,” he said. “Let’s go.”

\---

“To Youngjae in the city!” Bambam raised his glass high.

“To Youngjae!” Jinyoung cheered, clinking glasses with him.

Youngjae joined, clinking with a roll of his eyes. “Guys. I’m only here for a few days.” He sipped his drink, putting it down onto the high top table of some fancy bar that Bam had scouted for them to meet up at.

“You’ll be back,” Bam sipped his own drink with a smirk.

“What makes you so sure?” Youngjae raised his eyebrow.

Jinyoung leaned into his hand, smiling. “This is where Jackson is.”

“Please,” Youngjae groaned.

“Nope,” Jinyoung clapped his hands together. “It’s time. Tell me.”

“Just tell him, Youngjae,” Bambam sighed. “He needs to find out sooner or later.”

“Can’t I finish my first drink first?” the man whined.

“No,” Jinyoung shook his head. “Spill first. Drink after.”

Youngjae sighed. “It was a one night thing,” he shrugged. “That’s all.”

“Well, it sure seems memorable,” Jinyoung offered.

“Not for the right reasons,” he murmured into his drink.

Jinyoung leaned in closer. On the edge of his seat. “What happened?”

“It was just…” Youngjae grimaced. “I mean, he was… nice. And I was a little drunk. So it didn’t seem like the worst idea at the time.” He looked down into his glass, taking a deep breath in. “But it was not what I expected,” he exhaled, taking a sip.

Jinyoung stayed silent, eyes drilling into him. Willing him to continue.

Youngjae’s face soured, either at the taste of his drink or the memory itself. “He wanted me to,” he spun the glass against the table. “Call him ...puppy.”

Jinyoung shrugged, “So what. You like dogs.”

“Not the point.”

“Well,” Jinyoung raised his eyebrows. “Did you?”

Youngjae’s face twisted up, uneasy. “Yeah,” he sighed, defeated.

“And then,” Jinyoung motioned him to keep going.

“Just wait,” Bambam chuckled, leaning in to hit Jinyoung’s arm. “This is the worst part.”

Youngjae shot a glare at Bam before continuing. “And then I went to leave and all his bandmates were sitting in the living room,” he blinked like he was reliving a nightmare. “So I came out and they were just staring at me. Like they’d heard everything that just happened.”

“Huh,” Jinyoung nodded. “I’ll admit. That was worse than I thought it would be.”

“How was he today?” Bambam asked. “Is that good little pup still trained on you?”

“Yep,” Jinyoung answered for him. “He’s always mentioning you, Youngjae. I mean you’ve really...,” he smiled. “Got him on a tight leash.”

Bam high-fived Jinyoung over the table as they dissolved into giggles while Youngjae shot back the rest of his drink.

“Enough,” Youngjae cut them off. “Besides, Bam told me you’ve gotten yourself in a far stickier situation than mine.”

Jinyoung’s smile fell. His eyes shot over to Bam. “What did you tell him?”

Bam shrugged, wordlessly holding his glass to his lip.

“Maybe something about a certain long-haired frontman?” Youngjae leaned his elbows against the table.

Jinyoung sat back. His hand nervously feeling at the back of his neck. “Well, actually,” he said. “It’s not happening anymore. I broke it off last weekend.”

“What? Why?” Bambam gasped. “Jinyoung. Have you seen him?”

“I know why,” Youngjae smiled, eyes folding into warm little crescents.

Jinyoung shot him a warning glance. “Think before you speak, Youngjae.”

Bam looked between them. “Can one of you just say it?”

Youngjae licked his lips slowly. “He’s seeing Mark again.”

“You don’t know that,” Jinyoung stared him down.

“I saw you two today,” Youngjae nodded. “Being all flirty and shy. You both think you’re so sly, but nothing’s changed. The two of you are just as obvious as you used to be.”

“Are you serious, Jinyoung?” Bam drew his brows together.

“We aren’t seeing each other,” Jinyoung protested. “We are just friends.”

His two friends looked at him, their expressions placid and unimpressed.

Jinyoung felt his shoulders tighten together under their judgemental stares. “Who may have slept together,” he shrugged, innocently. “Twice.”

They both scoffed aloud. “Too easy,” Youngjae murmured. 

“Come on, man,” Bam chastised. “What even are your intentions with him?”

“My intentions?” Jinyoung raised his brow. “Are you his father?”

“Don’t dodge the question,” Youngjae pointed to him.

Jinyoung sighed, looking down to watch his fingers swipe at the condensation on his glass. “I want to be with him,” he said, voice small. “For real this time. Forever.”

Youngjae and Bambam looked at him. Expressions verging on pity.

Bambam spoke first. “Does he even know about Jaebeom?”

Jinyoung felt the sudden fever creep up his neck, his hand returning to try and quell it. “Not yet,” he said. “But I’ll tell him. You know. When the time’s right.”

“As if the time will ever be right,” Youngjae huffed.

\---

Jinyoung was glad to have a break from the studio when it was Brainstorm’s turn to come in for their cover shoot. By the time the band arrived at the loft that the magazine had rented for the day, the place was flooded with staff. Hair and makeup people grabbing at the band members to get them prepped. The stylists setting out racks of clothing and rows of shoes. But as soon as Jinyoung lost sight of each of the members in the chaos, he felt arms wrapping around him. He turned around.

“Bam!” he gasped, reaching out to hug his friend. “What are you doing here?”

“You obviously didn’t check the call sheet,” Bam huffed, running a hand through his hair. “The fashion house I’m interning with is dressing them today. So, I get to play stylist.”

Jinyoung felt himself smile, immediately grounded by Bam’s presence. “Do you mind if I hang out with you?” he asked. “I am feeling a little underfoot.”

“Of course. Come on,” Bambam grabbed his arm. “Let me sit you down near me.”

Jinyoung sat on a couch near Bambam’s pedestal watching him prepare all his tools to fit the boys into the clothes for the shoot. And as the members came out of hair and makeup, Bambam and the other stylists handed them their outfits, leading them to a dressing room to change.

Jaebeom was the first to come out, wearing fitted black jeans and a destroyed denim jacket.

“Good to see you again, Jaebeom,” Bam smiled brightly.

Jaebeom's expression cringed. Like he was remembering that their last interaction had been nothing more than awkward exchanged glances from the doorway of Jinyoung’s apartment. “You too,” he averted his eyes, giving with a small nod.

“Here. Let me fix you,” Bambam motioned for him to stand on the pedestal before kneeling at his feet. He took a few pins in his mouth, starting to tug at the legs of his jeans. Adjusting the hems and seams. “Quit squirming,” he chastised, hitting his leg with the back of his hand.

Jaebeom hissed back, “I’m scared you’re gonna poke me.”

Bam looked up at him. “Then you should stop moving.”

Jaebeom sighed, stilling himself on the pedestal.

Bam smiled, taking a pin from between his teeth and wedging it into a seam. “Besides,” he stood up, now standing a little too close for comfort. “I wouldn’t dare hurt without asking,” he smoothed his hands over Jaebeom’s broad shoulders, getting the jacket to lay right. “Pretty boys like you only get hurt if they ask nicely.” 

Jinyoung’s gaze shot up, going to Jaebeom’s face. Suddenly feeling like he was observing something that wasn’t for him, but unable to move without drawing attention to himself.

The frontman’s eyes were wide and it was hard to tell under the lights but it almost looked like there was a faint blush tinting his high cheekbones. He blinked, seemingly stunned before he must have felt Jinyoung’s eyes because he looked to him before clearing his throat and stepping back off the pedestal. “Is that all then?” he asked, averting his eyes again.

“You’re good to go,” Bam grinned. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

Jaebeom walked away, glancing over his shoulder at the two of them before joining Yugyeom on the other side of the room.

Bambam looked to Jinyoung. A smug smile wide across his face.

Jinyoung shook his head. “You’re sick.”

Bam laughed. “What?” he shrugged his shoulders, taking a seat down next to him. “He’s available now, right? May as well shoot my shot.”

And Jinyoung was on the precipice of a comeback when his eyes suddenly caught on to someone across the room. His gaze followed, seeing Mark emerge from the dressing room. He was wearing bright patchwork pants in shades of yellow and blue. His shirt was sheer, revealing his cut torso and the ink across his ribs. And Jinyoung’s eyes panned downward, seeing the pants turned up to reveal a pair of high top converse.

Bam’s voice interrupted Jinyoung’s thoughts. “What do you think?” he whispered from his side. “Did I do good?”

Jinyoung couldn’t drag his eyes away. The mix of new and old Mark working together in perfect harmony. “The shoes?” he huffed towards Bam. “Really?”

The boy laughed, “I thought you’d like them.”

Jinyoung sighed. Seeing Mark look up at him, his mouth immediately pulling into a shy smile. “I do,” he breathed.

The boys started shooting and Jinyoung watched from afar as they did their cover shot first. Standing close together, the photographer arranging their heights in a pleasing way against the white backdrop. Jaebeom's position in the middle moved a little more forward while Yugyeom’s height had him pushed further back to even the perspective. Their expressions ranging between glamorously apathetic and ironically absurd.

They got the shots they needed, changing themselves for the second set of shots in which the designers had staged parts of the loft to be a parody of the concept of rock stars trashing a hotel room. All of the pictures flashing up onto the monitors in high contrast black and white. Jinyoung finding a couch just far enough away from the action while still being able to see the band members work in full view. Bambam coming to join him in between changing the men’s clothing.

Jackson did his shoot in the loft’s fancy tub, leather pants, a loosely buttoned sheer shirt, and his disheveled hair sprayed down with water as he mocked drinking vodka straight from the bottle and pouring it over his head. The photographer urging him to scream out and whip his wet hair around to get action shots of the droplets splattering off him. His boisterous laughter filling the set, in harmony with the snaps and flashes of the camera.

Yugyeom was shot on the balcony. He wore only a hotel robe and a pair of classic sunglasses that rested near the tip of his strong nose. His finger languidly pushing them up every now and then to look up through them. A piece of bubble gum in his mouth making him look indifferent as he chewed, blowing bubbles. His strong profile glinting in the light as his long legs exposed themselves from the folds of his robe. Leaning against the banister and spreading his arms until his milky white chest popped through.

Jaebeom was next. His long dark hair greased back as he stared into the hotel mirror. His clothes were all black and satin yet something androgonous about them that matched the way he smeared lipstick messily across his lips in the mirror over and over again. Taking off the lipstick just to reapply it for the shot until he had a faint dark red rim around his mouth. Nothing precise in the way he applied it but instead messy and jagged around the edges. A cigarette coming up every now and then to rest against his reddened mouth, leaving a creamy stain around the filter. 

Between flashes and snaps, Jinyoung sneaked a peek at Bam. And the man was staring as Jaebeom posed, leaning forward onto his knees with his mouth gape. “Don’t make me wipe your drool,” Jinyoung said, pushing him off balance.

Bambam scrambled to regain himself. “Shut up,” he rolled his eyes.

Mark was the last to shoot. And when he came out, Jinyoung looked up, nearly gasping. Mark was wearing an oversized oxford work shirt, white and classic. But below it, his legs and feet were bare. Padding gingerly over the wood floors and watching the photographer motion towards the bed before getting onto it. And even from the distance across the room, Jinyoung could see the way his dark hair was curled and styled to look messy. And when he looked toward the natural light flooding in from the window, Jinyoung could see the hint of glitter dotted underneath his eyes.

“Should I get you a towel? Maybe a pillow for your lap?” Bam asked from his side.

“Shhh,” Jinyoung hushed before getting up from where he sat, coming closer. Watching as Mark stood up on the bed, his bare feet sinking in. His arms clutching around a pillow.

“Okay, we are gonna start the fans. Just have fun with it,” the photographer called to him, motioning over to the staff. They started fans on either side of him, staff members with bags of feathers taking out handfuls and letting them blow towards Mark.

Mark started to jump on the bed, swinging the pillow between his arms. The pillow itself had been sliced at one side, allowing the feathery contents to spill out into the air. His smile widening as he got higher and higher with his jumps, bending his knees to accentuate the height.

Jinyoung watched him from behind the monitors, seeing the shots pop up with every click and flash. The feathers sillouttening Mark’s smiling face, his messy hair, his bare legs. And Jinyoung felt that careless, ever present need for him only deepen in his chest, spreading through him until it almost hurt to keep looking but he couldn’t stop. 

They continued the shots for nearly fifteen minutes before the director lowered her camera. “Tired?” she called out.

Mark stopped, his chest heaving but his smile wide. “Yeah,” he laughed.

“Just lay down then,” the photographer said. “Let’s get some of you just laying down in the feathers.”

Mark complied lying down in the bed as the team positioned themselves over him. 

The photographer stood on a tall stool lining her camera up to her eye. “Okay,” she said. “Just act natural.”

Jinyoung looked to the monitors, watching the shots come through. Black and white and naturally lit. Mark surrounded by the white sheets, the white feathers, the white oversized oxford that was now slipping down his shoulder. His chest working through heavy respirations, increasing and decreasing in breadth with every shot. He looked up into the camera. Not smiling really but his eyes wide and mesmerizing. That dotting of glitter only making them sparkle more.

“Can you undo some of those lower buttons?” the photographer called out, looking out over her camera.

Jinyoung watched his pretty hands comply, working against the buttons of the shirt and exposing more of his legs, his white underwear, his stomach. Going until nearly everything up to his sternum was bared. Pulling his hands away and raising them up above his head on the sheets.

“Now,” the photographer called out, holding the camera back up. “This lens is your lover.”

The shots started to flash again onto the screen and Jinyoung’s eyes went to them immediately. Mark’s radiant skin, his sparkling eyes, the black of his tattoo breaking up all the white, everything about him screaming fierce and lovely and perfect. Exactly the Mark that Jinyoung kept pressed in the pages of his mind like a rare flower.

Jinyoung watched and watched. Folding his arms across his chest and wedging the flesh of his thumb between his teeth. Feeling himself melting into his spot. Like he was invisible to everyone else. Until the photographer dropped her camera. “Perfect. You’re all finished, Mark,” she smiled. “Everyone. That is a wrap.” She clapped and the staff throughout the loft followed.

Mark grinned, sitting up onto the bed and rebuttoning his shirt together. And as his eyes looked to the faces around the room, he caught Jinyoung’s eyes. Staring at him for a moment before his face went shy with a small smile that he directed down to his lap.

Jinyoung felt his own smile grow against his thumb, catching Mark’s eyes again when he looked up. Watching the man’s smile grow a little more, lip fitting under the edge of his teeth. Just as beautiful as the pictures.

Mark got up, taking himself back to the dressing room, the steps of his bare feet light now less hesitant. Jinyoung’s eyes followed him until he was out of sight.

The static chatter of the staff heightened as they began to break down lights and equipment and tech. Someone coming forward with a broom to sweep up the feathers around the bed. People rushing around Jinyoung, shaking him from his reverie as he apologized, backing himself against the wall, feeling underfoot once again.

“Jinyoung.”

He turned and Bam was standing with two garment bags over his shoulder. “Take these,” he said, handing them over.

Jinyoung furrowed his brows. “What are they?”

Bam nodded. “Two suits. Do with them what you will,” he shrugged. “But I need them back before my boss notices.”

Jinyoung took the bags from his hand, holding them between his arms. He looked at his friend, not putting it together.

“White hanger his, black hanger yours,” Bambam urged. “Go.”

Jinyoung sparked with realization. He felt the warmth flooding through him at the suggestion. He reached out, hugging his friend. “Thank you,” he murmured before pulling away and turning to hustle towards the dressing room. 

He was approaching the door when it opened, Mark standing on the other side. Changed out of his white oxford and into his day clothes, a loose pair of jeans and an oversized t-shirt that swallowed his svelte frame.

Mark looked up at him. “Hey,” he blinked, eyes wide with surprise.

“Hey,” Jinyoung breathed. His words rushed out. “What are you doing after this?”

Mark’s lashes fluttered as flashes of his teeth show through in a genuine smile. “I was just going to go home,” he said, repositioning his bag on his shoulder.

Jinyoung took a deep breath in. “Look. I know it's been a long day for you,” he said. “But maybe we could ...hang out?”

Mark licked his lips. That dotting of glitter shimmering, beautifully. “Should we?”

“Why not?” Jinyoung shrugged. “I mean. We are friends, right? Friend’s hang out.”

Mark looked at him for a while, appraising him, before nodding. “Okay,” he agreed. “Let me wash this stuff off my face,” he started to turn away.

“No, don’t,” Jinyoung called, grabbing his wrist. Watching Mark turn back with wide eyes. He shrugged. “It’s… cool. You should keep it on.”

Mark’s smile grew. “Okay,” he nodded.

Jinyoung perked, taking the white hangered bag and handing it to him, “Here,” he offered.

“What’s this?” he took it carefully.

“You’ll need it where we are going.”

Mark’s shoulders dropped. “Jinyoung.”

He smiled. “Come on,” he said. “Change and I’ll meet you out here.”

Mark opened his mouth, near words before sighing. “Fine,” he said, closing the door.

He went to the bathroom closing the door and locking it. Changing into what Bam had given him, a gray check suit with a black shirt. He ran wet hands through his hair to smooth it down. He looked at himself in the mirror, appraising himself before coming back out into the chaotic space and going to find Mark.

“Wait!”

He turned, seeing Bam run up to him.

“God,” the man’s hands went to his shirt. “Can you stop being so stuffy?” He worked at the top button of his collar, undoing it and a few more until the top of his chest was peeking through.

“Bam,” Jinyoung scoffed, pushing away his hands. “Too much.”

“Just trust me!” Bam laughed. “Go.”

Jinyoung rolled his eyes before turning back towards the dressing room just as Mark was stepping out. His suit a powder blue double breasted number with a white shirt underneath. A far cry from that drummer in the bandanas and muscle tanks that Jinyoung had loved at first sight, but still inciting the same feeling. The feeling of being totally swept away by merely the sight of him.

“Aw,” Bam whispered from behind him. “You guys look like prom dates.”

Jinyoung shot him a look over his shoulder. “Stop,” he murmured. “And thank you. I love you.”

“Love you too,” Bam laughed. “Have fun.”

Jinyoung came up to meet Mark. “You ready?”

Mark nodded. “I think so.”

“You look nice.”

He smiled. “So do you.” 

Jinyoung motioned to the door. “Shall we?”

They walked west across Manhattan, a few blocks before they hit Central Park. The sun setting as they walked. The blustery spring wind blowing through the park.

“You didn’t have to come to the shoot today,” Mark said.

“I know,” Jinyoung nodded. “But I wanted to. I’m the writer. I should see through all parts of the story.”

“How was it?” Mark asked. “The shoot.”

“It was good,” Jinyoung smiled. “I think the pictures will turn out well.”

“How were mine?” he asked. “I didn’t get to see many of them.”

“They were,” Jinyoung struggled to find the words. “Good. Fitting.”

Mark looked to him, confused.

“They fit the article. The parts about you that is.”

“How so?”

Jinyoung smiled. “You’ll have to see when it comes out.”

Mark’s hand went to the back of his neck, suddenly shy. “You didn’t think it was too much?”

“No,” Jinyoung shook his head. “It’s you. It’s… I don’t know. Don’t make me say it.”

“Say what?”

“That you’re beautiful,” Jinyoung furrowed his brows. “You know. In a friendly compliment way.”

Mark laughed. “Thank you. I’ll take it as that.”

They walked a few blocks past the park. To a big square. A fountain in the middle. A big stone building ahead. And around it people were wearing suits and dresses, funneling into the building.

“Do you know where we are?” Jinyoung asked.

“Lincoln Center,” Mark furrowed his eyebrows. “Same place where the…” he voice trailed off. He stopped in his tracks. “Jinyoung.”

“What?”

“We’re not…” Mark licked his lips. “You don’t have tickets.”

“You’re right. I have season passes,” he shrugged, continuing to walk. He looked over his shoulder. “You coming?”

Mark followed him in, getting scanned and walking through to the opulent lobby. “Have you been here since moving here?” Jinyoung asked. Though he was almost sure he knew the answer.

“No,” Mark shook his head, looking around. 

“Why not?”

“I guess,” Mark thought. “I just figured it wouldn’t bring up the right feelings.”

Jinyoung’s face fell. Not having considered that. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… Are you sure you want to-”

“Stop,” Mark grabbed his arm, dragging him further inside. “Let’s find our seats.”

Jinyoung showed him to their seats, familiar with the way. He handed him the program.

Mark looked down to it. “Did you know they would be playing this?”

Jinyoung shook his head. “No, what is it?”

“Shchedrin’s Carmen Suite,” Mark smiled fondly.

“Tell me about it.”

“It’s boring,” Mark shook his head.

“We’re here. I want to know about it,” Jinyoung assured.

Mark took a deep breath. “Fine,” he rolled his eyes. “So, Shchedrin was a Soviet composer whose wife was a famous ballerina. And she was fascinated by the opera, Carmen, and desperately wanted a ballet based on it. So she went around to all of these composers but no one would give her the time of day. Until someone asked her why she was searching for a composer when she was married to one.” 

“And so her and her husband worked together on it. And when the music was finished, the National Ballet of Cuba was in town because, you know, communism. And she was so impressed with the performance that she reached out to their choreographer and asked him to choreograph it.”

“Mm,” Jinyoung hummed in understanding. “What’s the story about?”

“Well,” Mark twisted his mouth together in thought. “I guess it’s a love triangle essentially. Carmen at the center, a woman who is impulsive, strong, and admirably uncontrollable. And at first, she gets caught up into an affair with a kind of naive soldier, but then she gets bored and pursues a bullfighter.”

“Oh. Definitely got to go with the bullfighter,” Jinyoung scoffed.

“Of course, you’d think that,” Mark laughed. “But the suite itself is really known for its percussion. Which is why it was always one of my favorites to play.”

Jinyoung’s eyes went wide, “You played this one?”

“Yeah, not the whole thing,” he shrugged. “Just a few of the numbers. It’s like a simplified version of the actual opera. So as you can see,” he pointed up at the stage. “They need only percussion and strings for it.”

Jinyoung looked up, noticing there were considerably less chairs on the stage. When he looked back, Mark was looking at him.

“So,” he seemed a little hesitant. “You really have season passes here?”

“Yeah,” Jinyoung hid his smirk. “I can be cultured.”

“It’s not that,” Mark shook his head. “It’s just… why?”

“I don’t know,” Jinyoung shrugged. “I guess when I moved, I wasn’t sure where I’d have the opportunity of running into you. And I thought, maybe this was a place you would come. But obviously, I was wrong,” he laughed. “But it doesn’t matter. I still have gotten to see a lot of amazing performances.”

“Well,” Mark laughed. “You can call me next time you want to go.”

Jinyoung looked to him. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “It doesn’t just have to be my thing. It could be our thing.”

And just then the lights started to dim.

“It’s starting,” Mark gasped, settling into his seat.

And as the music played, Jinyoung looked over to the seat next to him. Just as familiar but no longer glaringly empty. No need to sweep his eyes across the crowd. Because what he’d been looking for all those months was right next to him. Staring up at the stage, enraptured by the music.

After the performance, they were a few blocks away, sitting on a curb with slices of dollar pizza in their hands that they’d bought from a street side walkup.

“You never told me,” Jinyoung said. “What did Youngjae talk to you guys about the other day?” He dug his teeth into the tough crust.

Mark chewed through his bite, swallowing. “He told us to dump Claude and cancel our studio time.”

Jinyoung’s mouth fell open. “What?”

“Yeah,” Mark laughed. “He said we have no business being in the studio right now. We aren’t ready. We aren’t focused. We aren’t inspired. He told us we are wasting our time and money.”

“Mark,” Jinyoung sighed, shoulders falling. “I’m sorry. He shouldn’t have said that. I can talk to him. I-”

“No,” the man shook his head. “Are you kidding me?” He laughed. “This is what I’ve been wanting to hear for weeks. Just no producer had the balls to tell us.”

“Really?” He threw his last bite into his mouth.

Mark nodded. “We need a break. But there’s a lot of pressure. The company obviously has invested a lot already. And hell, you’re doing your story. We are getting the cover,” he listed off.

“Fuck the cover,” Jinyoung scoffed around a full mouth. “You guys need to do what’s best for you.”

“You sound like Youngjae,” Mark took a sip from his soda can, placing it back down against the curb. “You know it’s weird,” he looked out over the darkened street. “Cause you think once you sign the deal, once you move to the city, it’s all gonna be worked out. But that’s not really true. It just ups the stakes.”

Jinyoung swallowed. “Do you regret it?”

“What?”

“Taking the deal,” he shrugged.

Mark pursed his lips. “That’s a hard question,” he said, thinking. A time stretched on a little too longer before he took a deep breath in. “I’ll tell you what I don’t regret. Dollar pizza.”

“Cheers to that,” Jinyoung agreed, reaching for Mark’s soda and sipping from it.

“Hey,” Mark called out. “Don’t get your germs all over my drink.”

“Mark,” Jinyoung laughed. “You know we’ve kissed, right?”

The man rolled his eyes. “Only like a few times.”

“A few?” Jinyoung's eyes widened.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. How many times do you think?”

Jinyoung thought for a moment. “I mean at least a hundred.”

“No,” Mark drew his brows together. “Really?”

“At least,” he assured. “Though not as many as Jaebeom got.”

“Yeah,” Mark huffed. “Probably not.”

“But I’ll get there,” Jinyoung nodded. “I’m determined.” He looked at him, smirk pulling up on one side.

Mark smirked. Then leaned in, pressing his lips against Jinyoung’s. Lingering for a moment before pulling back. “There,” he said, defiantly. “One more. Consider it charity for your cause.”

Jinyoung blinked in shock. “Well, that wasn’t very friendly of you.”

Mark scoffed. “Shut up,” he smiled before wiping his hands together and standing up. “Come on,” he reached out his hand, offering it to Jinyoung

Jinyoung took it, letting himself be pulled up. “Where are we going?” 

Mark started walking, talking over his shoulder. “Taking you home.”

They walked the length to Jinyoung’s apartment. Steps unhurried and winding like they were trying to make time pass a little bit slower. The spring city air blustery and chilly as they bundled their jackets around themselves, trying to keep the wind out. They talked about nothing in particular. Making jokes and exchanging smiles. Eventually finding themselves outside the glass doors of Jinyoung’s lobby.

Jinyoung looked at Mark. His arms tight around his body, his makeup still glittering in the lamplight, his mouth upturned at the corners. “I’ll see you soon?”

“Of course,” Mark nodded. “Good night, Jinyoung,” he started to turn away.

The realization hit like a wave. “Wait,” Jinyoung stopped him, watching him turn back. “I need your suit. It’s from Bam’s work.”

Mark looked at him. “Okay,” he nodded. “Yeah. I can come up and change real quick.”

They walked through the lobby, taking the elevator up to Jinyoung’s apartment. As soon as they got in, Mark took off his shoes, his coat. “Where should I…” his voice trailed off.

“Oh,” Jinyoung blinked. “The bathroom is fine. Feel free.”

Jinyoung followed him to the bedroom. Mark went to the bathroom and shut the door while Jinyoung turned on the lights and took off his blazer, laying it on a chair in the corner. He unbuttoned the sleeves of his shirt, pushing them up his elbows as he went to his chest of drawers. He went to open the bottom one, trying to get pajamas for himself, but the drawer wouldn’t budge. He kept tugging on it with all his strength, but it wouldn’t cooperate.

Mark came out in his oversized day clothes, flicking the bathroom lights out and looking up. “What are you doing?”

Jinyoung sighed, sitting on the floor. “The drawer is jammed.”

Mark huffed a laugh. “Let me try,” he offered, dropping the balled up suit onto the chair and coming over to him. He hiked his jeans up as he squatted down. He put his hands to the handle, wrapping his fingers around carefully and pursing his lips together. He tugged it once. No luck. Then twice.

Jinyoung’s eyes went up, looking to the top of the chest. On top, he had a few knick-knacks. Glass bottles of cologne and watches. But there was also a decorative box and as Mark tugged, it shook, wobbling closer to the edge.

“Mark. Wait-”

But Mark was pulling a third time, extra hard leaning all his body weight into it. And the drawer came out, sending Mark to the floor but Jinyoung’s eyes were still glued to the box as it skidded over the edge and crashed down, immediately bursting open.

“Oh my god,” Mark sat up. “I’m sorry.” He reached out, started to grab at the contents to put them back. But he stopped, his hand clutched around a toy Pikachu. Drawing it closer to look at.

Jinyoung held his breath. Watching as Mark’s eyes rose from it, looking across the floor. Laid out in front of him were a collection of items. 

“Jinyoung,” Mark whispered out. “What is all this?”

And Jinyoung winced. Knowing there was no use hiding it. “It’s you,” he offered. “I mean. Parts of you.”

Mark dropped the Pikachu into the box, his hands going to pick up something else. This time grabbing a pair of drumsticks that had been tied together. He looked to Jinyoung, brows drawn in confusion.

“From when we kissed,” Jinyoung shrugged, trying to seem casual. “Before you went on. And you dropped your sticks. So I kept them.”

Mark slowly put them in the box. Picking up a cocktail napkin next and reading the message across it in his own handwriting. 

_Meet me near the kitchen - M_

He put it into the box. Next, his hand went to a scrap of light green fabric. Unraveling it and seeing that it was the bandana from the boy scout uniform. Mark’s handwriting in sharpie.

_I didn’t want to wake you. You looked so cute sleeping. I’ll see you at soundcheck. - M_

Jinyoung watched him, feeling the nerves like static. Waiting for his reaction. Not sure what he was going to get.

Mark put the bandana into the box. Looking at all of it. He shook his head. “I can’t believe you kept all this stuff.”

“Of course I did,” he shrugged. “It was real. It was important.”

Mark looked to him, taking everything in about him. “God,” he sighed. “You’re so different.”

Jinyoung looked down, hiding his smile. “I’m not really.”

“You are,” Mark nodded. “You’re so ...calm.”

Jinyoung licked his lips. He reached out, grabbing for Mark’s hand. He drew it up slowly, laying his palm flat against his chest. Over his heart.

Mark waited for a moment, eyes trained on his hand against Jinyoung’s shirt. But he must have felt the rhythm because his mouth broke into a slow smile. He looked up at him. “Is it always like this?”

“No,” Jinyoung shook his head. “Only for you.”

Mark continued feeling it. And as his smile grew and as his eyes stayed fixed on Jinyoung’s, he must have felt the beat of it heightening more. He laughed.

“Sorry,” Jinyoung huffed, dropping Mark’s hand. Feeling a blush creep up his ears. “That was lame.”

Mark laughed again, bright and lovely. “No,” he said. “I liked it.”

And they looked at each other for a little too long. Smiles falling away to nothing. Eyes going round. Mark’s lip fitting between his teeth.

Jinyoung took in a deep breath, trying to pull himself from the moment. “You should probably get going,” he started to stand. “You know, while the subway schedule is still-” But then he felt fingers coming up around his wrist, yanking him back down to the floor. He gasped, caught off guard and falling onto his back.

Mark quickly sat in his lap, ducking down and kissing him. His hands fisting into his dress shirt. His lips warm and familiar as they met. Feeling the smile laced against it so tight that it was nearly teeth. 

“Mark,” Jinyoung laughed between breaths. “What are you-”

“Baby. Shh,” Mark shushed as he kissed into the corner of his mouth.

“But we-”

“I know,” Mark didn’t relent, lips pressing up into his jaw and neck. “I don’t care.”

And Jinyoung felt the press of Mark’s hips weighing down on his. The warmth of his mouth. The dexterity of his fingers. And he knew that if Mark couldn’t bring himself to care, neither could he.

His hands went to the hem of Mark’s shirt, stripping it over his head and tossing it aside. Smoothing down his sides.

Mark grabbed his hands away, pinning them above his head as he continued devouring his neck. Grinding his hips down into him.

Jinyoung smiled. “Is this the day?” he panted.

“What day?” Mark whispered.

“Last time,” Jinyoung giggled, craning his head. “You said one day, you’d fuck me again.”

Mark huffed against his skin. He pulled away. Looking down at him. Hands squeezing his wrists. “This is the day,” his voice deep and warm.

Jinyoung felt himself break out in a feverish blush that warmed the tips of his ears. His mouth pulled up at one side. 

“Come on,” Mark stood, offering his hands to Jinyoung and lifting him up. He pulled him toward the bed, laying back. “Take off your shirt.”

Jinyoung smirked, standing over him. His hands untucked it from his dress pants, fingers going to the buttons. Working down them with deliberate motions, making a show of it. Watching Mark’s eyes comb over him. “Did you have fun tonight?”

Mark nodded. “It was like a real date, wasn’t it?”

Jinyoung pulled the shirt off, “It was.” He crawled over him, capturing his mouth again. Opening it up and feeling the slide of their tongues. His hand feeling down Mark’s body, the way it arched to meet him at every place he touched. He pulled away, “You know, it could always be like this.”

“Like what?” Mark smiled.

Jinyoung shrugged. “Taking each other out. Talking. Laughing. Coming back here. Doing this,” he twisted his palm against Mark.

He whined, arching towards his hand. “Jinyoung,” he laughed.

“What?” he smiled, dipping down to kiss into his ear. “You don’t like this part?”

Mark looped his arm around Jinyoung’s middle, flipping him onto his back and bracing over him. “So chatty,” he put his knee against Jinyoung’s lap, pressing down. “I’ll have to shut you up.”

Jinyoung gasped at the pressure, feeling his whole body cave.

Mark’s hands went to Jinyoung’s dress pants, working against the clasp before shoving them down his body. His fingers trailing up the length of Jinyoung’s frame before coming up to his mouth and pressing between his lips.

Jinyoung opened his mouth letting Mark’s fingers slide against his tongue, coating them. He watched as he trailed them back down before pressing them against his entrance, encircling it and making him whine.

Mark pushed a finger in. And it was nothing like last time they did this. Because before there had been this unclear line between the pleasure and the pain. The sense that they shouldn’t be doing it yet they were. But now it was nothing but pleasure. Nothing but both of them wanting it with all of their hearts. And Jinyoung could feel the change that made in the way his body fell open for Mark. Not in spite of the feelings at play but because of them. Relaxed and pliant and willing to take whatever the man would give.

Mark slid another finger into him, moving them in tandem and watching the way Jinyoung’s face reacted to them. Curling them up into him until his hips jerked forward. When he felt Mark’s fingers slip out, he rushed to reach for the lube at the bedside, tossing it to him.

Mark squeezed the lube out into his hand, reaching out and, first, fisting across Jinyoung’s cock before bringing his between his hand as well. Coating both of them as he stroked.

And Jinyoung leaned back, eyes fluttering. “Mark,” he panted. “Just give it to me.”

He watched Mark’s smile grow as he pulled his hand away and lined himself up at Jinyoung’s entrance. And when he pushed into him, there was no hissing of teeth. No biting burn. Just the need to have him closer. So Jinyoung reached up, pulling his face down and kissing him as his hips started to rock. He felt Mark’s hand wrap around his slick cock, working up and down it in perfect rhythm with his thrusts. He licked into Mark’s mouth. Relishing the variety of sensations that Mark’s body was capable of giving him. Feeling himself curl around him.

“Baby,” Mark smiled, against his mouth. “You’re so close.”

“Don’t.”

Mark laughed. “What?” he whispered. “Don’t call you baby? Why not? Does it make you cum too fast?”

Jinyoung nodded frantically. Feeling the warmth of Mark’s voice coat down his body, settling deep in his gut and making him tremble. The pace of Mark’s hand quickening against him. The slam of his hips a little stronger into him.

“Don’t you think I already know that, baby?” Mark smiled. “Come on, then. Cum for me.”

And Jinyoung couldn’t help himself. Warmth everywhere as he unraveled under him, shaking and pulling Mark against his mouth. To kiss him through it, whining into his mouth.

When his body started to untighten, falling even more impossibly open, Jinyoung pulled away, holding Mark’s head in his hands. Letting his thumbs work up and smearing the glitter at his eyes downward across his cheek. Watching it catch in the light as it messily smudged over his high cheekbones, rivaling, but not outshining, the sparkle of his eyes.

“God,” Jinyoung scoffed. “You looked so good today. You know that?”

“Yeah?” Mark bit down on his lip.

“So beautiful,” he breathed. “Who was it?”

“Who was what?” Mark panted.

“The lens. Your lover,” Jinyoung smeared the glitter out a little more. “Who did you picture?”

Mark’s thrusts grew brutal, hungry. Dark eyes getting swallowed in the blacks. “You know,” he gasped. “You know it was you.”

Jinyoung smiled. “Of course,” he pulled his face closer. “But if you were beautiful then,” he whispered. “Now, you’re perfect. So, so perfect like this.”

Mark groaned. Hips stifling as he released into him. “Fuck,” he whimpered, shuddering. Closing his eyes for a moment to breath. Pulling himself out and sitting back onto his haunches as he tried to come down.

“Come here,” Jinyoung called, reaching out and pulling him into his lap. Letting the man’s head rest against his shoulder.

Jinyoung’s hands rubbed at his back, feeling the stretch of his shoulder blades and his spine lessen as his breaths calmed down. He smiled, kissing into his messy hair. “Mark,” he murmured. “We weren’t supposed to do that.”

“I know,” he whined, turning his head and letting his cheek brush Jinyoung’s chest. “It’s not my fault,” he said. “You’re just...”

Jinyoung laughed, pulling away and raising Mark’s face with his hands. “I’m just what?” he asked, smiling.

Mark sighed, meeting his eyes. “You’re you,” he shrugged. “And I love you.”

Jinyoung's chest widened. Looking into his face. Knowing how long he had waited to hear those words. Knowing that he would have given anything for them. And that he’d keep giving everything to keep hearing them. “I love you too.”

Mark let himself crash back onto the pillows. Arms raising above his head as he looked up at Jinyoung. “What do you think?” he smiled. “Should I stay?”

And Jinyoung was taken by his beauty. Face catching the light, glittering skin and all. Not too far off from the view of those photos from earlier that day. But deeper, richer. Real. Not staring down a lens but the person he truly loved. And Jinyoung had to remind himself it was him. “You should stay,” Jinyoung nodded. “Forever.”

“Jinyoung,” Mark huffed.

“I mean it,” he said, tracing a finger down Mark’s chest. “This is where you should be.”

Mark looked at him. “Okay.”

Jinyoung’s eyes went to his face, widening. “Okay?” he asked, not wanting to read into the confirmation.

Mark nodded. “I’ll stay. Forever.”

\---

Jinyoung woke first. Opening his eyes and seeing the exposed brick and the morning light of his apartment. Feeling the hot press of Mark’s bare chest against his t-shirt, the smooth silk of the pajamas pants he’d borrowed against his legs. Looking down at him. His breaths calm and deep. And Jinyoung felt overwhelmed, remembering last night. Knowing that this was how it was going to be from now on. Him and Mark. Always him and Mark.

His ears perked, tinging to a distant sound. Drawing his attention away as he tried to place it. But with one quick sweep of realization, his eyes went wide. The front door. He rushed to his feet, dashing and skidding into the living room.

Jaebeom was closing the door behind him, putting his keys back into his pocket before drawing his eyes up to Jinyoung’s face.

Panic coated every nerve ending. Everything going static and hot. “Jaebeom,” Jinyoung breathed, chest collapsing in on itself.

“Hey,” he said shyly. One side of his mouth drawing flat while his hand raised to tuck his fair behind his ear. “Can we-”

“You need to leave,” Jinyoung whispered, hands fisting midair.

Jaebeom stilled where he stood, his expression twisting together, “Hold on-”

“No,” Jinyoung said quietly. He swallowed, having nowhere to bury his panic. “You can’t be here.”

Jaebeom’s eyebrows drew together, confused. “Why are you whispering? What is going on?”

“Shh,” Jinyoung shushed. “Please,” he breathed, exasperated. He stepped forward, his hands going up to Jaebeom’s shoulders and starting to maneuver him towards the door. “Please. Just go home. I-”

“Jaebeom?”

Jinyoung’s head whipped around, seeing Mark in the doorway of the bedroom. His eyes squinted. Still only wearing those borrowed pajama pants. His dark hair pushed messily to one side. As Mark blinked, his brows pushed together. Face going confused, like he was navigating through a strange dream. The kind that always came when phasing in and out of sleep in the early hours of the morning. The kind that had the restless sleeper shooting awake at right about this moment, when it took that left turn toward a nightmare.

And, seeing Mark blinking himself awake, everything in Jinyoung fell.

“What are you doing here?” Mark’s voice rang out, deep and gritty with residual sleep. 

Jinyoung’s gaze panned back to Jaebeom. His sharp eyes were on Mark. His skin paling under the morning light. Drawing down the drummer’s body and back up again.

But then Jaebeom looked to Jinyoung. His jaw tightened, going flat. His eyes flooded with quiet fury and immeasurable hurt. Communicating everything he needed to in just a glance. Before turning on his heel and storming out, slamming the door on his wake.

Jinyoung tried to breathe, turning back to Mark standing in the doorway.

The boy’s face was still so tight with confusion. His arms coming to cross over his chest. “What was he doing here?” he said softly, still wearing that exhaustion in his voice but now in a different way. The source of the exhaustion shifting.

Jinyoung paused. Eyes taking him in. “Let’s just go back to bed.”

“Jinyoung.” His tone was somewhere between questioning and warning.

Jinyoung felt the static heat growing, spiraling upward from his core. Feeling it come up into his neck, his mouth. Faster than the right words could. “He comes over occasionally,” he shrugged, trying to play it off.

Mark’s brows drew together. “Since when?” he said, his voice turning sharp along with his eyes.

“Since a few months ago,” he shook his head.

“Why?

“What do you mean?”

Mark looked at him. “You know what I mean.”

The panic began to consume everything. Making it hard to think straight. “He’s a friend.”

Mark took Jinyoung in a glance, eyes defocusing from his face before he turned and marched back into the room. Going around the bed and grabbing his pants, his shirt, from the floor. Stripping off the borrowed pajamas as he started to pull his clothes back on, hastily.

“What are you doing?” Jinyoung rushed forward. Only seeing one thing. Only seeing Mark leaving again.

Mark sighed, pulling his shirt over his head. “If you aren’t going to tell me the truth, I’m going to leave.”

“No,” Jinyoung reacted. Because anything was better than leaving.

Mark looked at him. Eyes wide and serious. “Then tell me.”

Jinyoung’s chest caved together. “Mark.”

“Tell me,” he said, voice edging on panic. “If you love me, tell me.”

Jinyoung’s mouth was dry. Looking into Mark’s face and seeing the hint of a residual sparkle from his makeup catching in the morning light. And in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to bury the sun outside the window and return to last night. To a time before he’d had been illuminated, flayed open for Mark to see the parts he didn’t want him to. Back to when Jinyoung was perfect in his eyes. He swallowed. And when he said the words, he wanted to seem composed. Strong. But nevertheless, they still shook. “I made a mistake.”

“God, Jinyoung,” Mark sighed, the breath coming out exasperated. “What did you do?”

Jinyoung felt the wetness of his throat choke up. He tried to find the words. “I was hurt,” he started. “And I was lonely. And I missed you. So much.”

Mark looked at him, waiting for him to continue.

“And he was there,” Jinyoung breathed. “And he was hurt too.”

“You slept with him,” Mark said. Too blunt. Too strong.

Jinyoung felt his chest give. “Yeah.”

“How many times?”

Jinyoung fell silent. Because it wasn’t a question he could answer.

Mark seemed to understand the connotation. “Even since we...?” his voice trailed off.

“No,” Jinyoung shook his head. “No. Not since then.”

Mark exhaled forcefully. He went to sit on the edge of the bed. His hard eyes staring off out the window. 

Jinyoung watched him, waiting. Until he couldn’t take the silence. “Say something.”

“We were so close, Jinyoung,” he murmured. “So close to being something easy. Something normal.”

Jinyoung sat next to him on the bed. “But what could be easier than you and me?” he said, reaching out and putting a hand to Mark’s leg.

Mark quickly shoved it away, standing up and turning towards him. “No. You don’t get to say that,” he spat. “You don’t get to say that when you’re the one who has made this hard.”

Jinyoung's face fell. Knowing he was right. Watching it all crumble before him, unable to hold it together in his hands. “I know,” he mumbled. He fell silent. Trying to breathe. Trying to think. “I don’t know … I don’t know if it makes it better,” he said, voice croaking. “But when we did it. I didn’t think of him. I didn’t look at him. I thought of you.”

Mark scoffed. “That doesn’t make it better!” he shouted. “God,” he combed his hands through his hair before covering his face. “That’s so fucked up, Jinyoung.”

“But it’s true,” Jinyoung countered, standing and grabbing his hands. Holding them tight enough that he couldn’t pull away and looking into his face. “I only ever wanted you. Ever since the moment I saw you. Everything has been for you.”

“Don’t,” Mark shook out of his grip, pushing him away. “Don’t try and make it sound like you slept with him for me. You did it for _you_ ,” he gritted out. “I was hurt too, Jinyoung. You asked me last night if I regretted taking the deal. And I didn’t want to admit it but, yeah. There were times when I thought that maybe I’d made the wrong choice. That maybe I should have stayed with you in that piece of shit town.” His chest heaved. “And some nights, I thought about calling you up. But I knew I wasn’t ready for that. I knew I had things to work through. So I endured. I went to bed by myself and woke up by myself. And it wasn’t easy but it was what I had to do.”

“I know,” Jinyoung nodded, trying to placate him.

Mark didn’t stop. His words tumbling out, rushed and intense. “And even when things were happening between us again. Of course. Of course, as soon as I saw you, there was a part of me that wanted to fall for you all over again. But I told myself to do it right this time. Build something that was made to last longer than just a summer.” He breathed, looking back to him. “But, you’d kinda already shot that to shit, didn’t you? Before I was even back in the picture.”

Jinyoung felt it like a stab in his chest. The idea that he’d fucked it up before it ever had a chance of happening. But he was desperate. Desperate for so much that all he could do was bite back. “But back then,” he countered. “You were sleeping with him even while you were with me.”

“But you _knew_!” Mark roared. “You knew and you continued pursuing me. That was _your_ choice, Jinyoung!” He dug his finger into his chest. “But _I_ didn’t know about you two. _I_ wasn’t given that choice.”

“Fine,” Jinyoung sighed. “I fucked up. But I ended it. As soon as I was with you again, I broke it off. I told him it was over.”

“You used him. He was struggling, he’s still struggling. You knew he was vulnerable and you used him. Exploited him,” Mark accused.

Jinyoung pushed away the blame with a shake of his head. “Why are you defending him? After what he did to you.”

“He’s still a person. A person I’ve known a hell of a lot longer than you. I can still care for him. Empathize with him,” Mark pleaded. “Not like you who gets so focused that you become totally ignorant of anyone but me. Even back then, you didn’t care about anyone,” he said. “And honestly, I thought you changed. But you haven’t. You’re still making the same mistakes. You’re just getting better at hiding them.”

Jinyoung wanted to disagree but he wasn’t sure he could. The evidence stacked against him.

Mark backed himself toward the bedroom door. “I'm going to go.”

“Mark,” Jinyoung tried to reach out.

“Please,” he said, voice quiet. Dodging Jinyoung’s advances and holding his hands up. “Just let me go.”

“I can’t. I need you,” Jinyoung shook his head. Standing up and coming closer. “I love you. I don’t want you to go.”

“I know,” Mark urged, nodding and slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Which is exactly why I need to.” He went out to the living room, pulling on his shoes.

Jinyoung's heart sank in his chest. “Please,” he begged, following him. Standing before him. Feeling small and weak.

Mark stood back up, looking at him. Thinking for a long while before he spoke. “Just. Give me time. And space,” he said. Voice sure. “Prove to me you can do that. Okay?”

And it hurt. To be so close. So close to forever. But not close enough. Jinyoung tried to gather himself. “Okay,” he nodded. “I can do that.”

Mark grabbed his jacket. “I’ll see you around, Jinyoung,” he said, pulling it on.

“See you,” Jinyoung said, but it was half-hearted. Broken. Hating this. Hating everything.

And with that Mark, gave him a tight smile. Trying to leave on some semblance of optimism but the hope was already squandered in all that had been said. And with that, he walked out again.

Leaving Jinyoung stewing in his shame. In the hopeless feeling that maybe he wasn’t capable of being the person Mark needed him to be.


	6. ...releasing

It wasn’t easy pulling himself out of bed the next day. A bed that suddenly felt too big. Like an ocean of nothingness trying to swallow him whole. It wasn’t easy to shower, to dress, to pack his bag. Knowing where he was going. Knowing who he’d be seeing. Mark, yes. But not the Mark he wanted to see. Not the Mark that was his. And that made every step closer to that studio feel heavier. Like trudging through knee deep mud.

He got to the church, but when he pulled at the heavy wooden doors, they would not budge. He put his ear against them, hearing no reverberations of music bouncing off the high ceilings. He got his phone, dialing.

“Hello?” a voice came out muffled on the other side. Drowsy and smothered in what Jinyoung could only assume was the pillow of his hotel room.

“Youngjae, are you here yet?” he asked.

The man groaned. “Remind me where exactly?”

“The studio?” Jinyoung scoffed. “I can’t get in. The doors are locked.”

“Shit,” Youngjae’s voice started to clear, waking up. “No one told you?” 

Jinyoung’s mind rushed. Confused. “Told me what?”

There was a long drawn out pause. Sounds in the background like Youngjae may have been getting out of bed. “Recording has been halted. The album’s been put off.”

“What?” Jinyoung spat. “Why?”

Youngjae tutted his tongue behind his teeth. “I mean we could speculate for hours but you’d have to ask Jaebeom,” he said. “He’s the one who ultimately decided to shelve it.”

“Wait,” Jinyoung stopped. “How do you know? Who told you?”

There was another long pause. This one dead silent before the voice cut through. “What? Chhh,” Youngjae’s call broke up. “I can’t hear-chh. I’m going to-chh subway-chh.”

Jinyoung rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he scoffed. “Be that way.” He hung up. Looking up to the steeple of the abandoned church. Now just another place full of ghosts and too early goodbyes.  


\---

“It happens,” Quinn sat with her boots on the desk, shrugging her shoulders. “That’s the thing about this line of work. Musicians? Fascinating subjects. But incredibly unreliable ones. They quit. They break up. They overdose. They die.”

Jinyoung’s heart skipped, not even having considered any of those possibilities. “I just…”

“You blame yourself,” Quinn finished his thought.

“Yeah,” Jinyoung exhaled. “Is that normal?”

“It is,” she nodded. “But I mean, you made it seem like the whole thing was off the rails long before you arrived.”

And Jinyoung thought back to the first week he’d spent there. How on edge everyone was. How unwilling they were to communicate properly to each other. And it was hard to say if his presence over those few weeks eased the tension or exacerbated it. Maybe it would depend on who you asked. “What will the magazine do then?” he asked, shyly. “For the cover?”

“We plan for these things. Don’t worry. We aren’t upset. It just… wasn’t the right time. Nothing you could have done.”

And it didn’t ring true for him. But he wasn’t about to argue it.

“What now?” he asked.

“Take the rest of the week off,” she took her feet off her desk, leaning towards him. “Shake it off. And on Monday, we’ll have new assignments ready for you.”

Jinyoung gulped, feeling more hurt than he was comfortable admitting. Feeling like the disintegration of the article had been reflective of some bigger issue that he’d failed to piece together the solution for. He nodded. “Okay,” he conceded. “Thank you for your help on this.” He stood up, moving for the door.

“And Jinyoung?”

He turned back towards her.

“There’s still a chance,” she shrugged. “Things could turn around for them. Maybe the next cover. Maybe six months from now. Don’t throw everything away just yet, okay?” she smiled, radiating a calmness that soothed Jinyoung.

“I’ll remember that,” he forced the corners of his mouth up before leaving her office.

“Jinyoung!” someone called for him.

He turned, following the voice into Alex’s office where the man was leaning onto his desk. 

Jinyoung leaned into the doorway. “Hey,” he blinked, trying to hide whatever emotions he’d withheld in Quinn’s office. Smothering the complicated reactions with a small smile.

“I heard about the Brainstorm piece,” the man sighed. “I’m sorry, man.”

“It happens,” Jinyoung tried to repeat Quinn’s words, hoping to believe them. “It wasn’t the right time.”

“I hate to ask this,” he shook his head. “But I just wondered.” His fingers drumming against the edge of the desk. “Was it… you and Mark? Was that the reason?”

And Jinyoung had held it together pretty well until that moment. He’d stayed tight-lipped and placid about the whole thing. But the directness of Alex’s question threw him off and he wasn’t strong enough to deny it. “I don’t really know,” he said, honestly. Voice going slightly rough. Thinking of Jaebeom. Wondering if maybe what the frontman had seen the day before had been the final straw. He coughed. “It could be something like that.”

Alex sighed. “I’m sorry,” he grimaced. “It’s a lesson every journalist has to learn. To keep their personal life out of their career.”

And Jinyoung knew he meant well, but it didn’t help the comment land any softer. “Well,” he started to bite out, trying to hold back. “It was personal before it was forced to be a part of my career. So I’m not sure that applies.”

Alex’s eyes went wide in realization. “Oh,” he blinked, shocked. “Well, then.” He turned awkward. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know I was dredging up your past like that by reintroducing you. I assumed you’d just had a crush on him. If I’d had known-”

“I know you didn’t,” Jinyoung stopped him. “You had good intentions.”

The man’s mouth twisted up, thinking and considering. “Look,” he said as he rounded his desk, reaching behind it. “I had this printed for you,” he grabbed a poster tube, hands wringing against the cardboard as it brought it closer. “I don’t really know if it’s still something you’d want. But… I mean I already had it printed so-” He handed it towards him. “Just open it when you get home.”

And as soon as Jinyoung took it, he knew what it was. Mark’s photoshoot for the article. That moment in time that had been captured, intended for the world. Now becoming something that was solely for Jinyoung. And keeping Mark to himself didn’t feel right. Felt like an echo of the past version of them that was no longer relevant.

“Thanks, Alex,” he said, reminding himself that it was simply a thoughtful gift. That he shouldn’t consider it any more deeply than that. “I’ll see you next week.”

“See you next week, Jinyoung,” Alex waved him out.

And that poster tube burned against Jinyoung’s hand the whole subway ride home, only to be deposited under his bed where he wouldn’t be tempted to look at it.

\---

Jinyoung spent the rest of the week at home. Not leaving much. Not picking up his phone much. Falling unceremoniously into life before he’d gotten involved with the band again. With Mark again. Except, there was no Jaebeom now distracting him and filling the empty spaces which were left so suddenly vacant for the first time that it was impossible to ignore them. It wasn’t until Friday that there was a knock on his door. And when he opened it up, his two best friends were standing there with wild smiles across their faces.

“We brought snacks,” Bambam held up two grocery bags in either hand. 

“And wine,” Youngjae held the bottles by their necks. “So, you have to let us in.”

Jinyoung’s shoulders dropped. “Guys,” he sighed. “I’m not really in the mood for visitors right now.”

“All the more reason,” Youngjae shrugged, pushing his way into the apartment.

“Plus,” Bam skipped past him. “It’s Youngjae’s last day in the big city. Are you really going to let him leave without wishing him off?”

Jinyoung closed the door behind them and watched them immediately make themselves at home. “Youngjae, I’m sorry,” he said, remorsefully. “It totally slipped my mind.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Youngjae waved him away, setting the wine bottles on the counter before sitting down on the couch. “We get it. You’ve been busy being heartbroken.”

Jinyoung paused, narrowing his eyes at him, “How did you know?”

“Please,” Bambam opened a bag of chips and took a handful with him to the couch. “We aren’t dumb.”

“You’ve been replying to the group text with acronyms,” Youngjae said. “So we knew you were either heartbroken or abducted. A little disappointed it wasn’t the second one.”

“Fine,” Jinyoung conceded through gritted teeth, sitting down. “Yeah. It’s true. He found out about Jaebeom. Walked out. The whole thing.”

“And how are you?” Bam asked, scooting a little closer to him and crunching on the chips.

Jinyoung didn’t want to reflect. He didn’t want to confront the mix of feelings he had been trying to manage the last few days. Sadness, guilt, regret, impatience. “I mean,” he took a breath, unable to meet their intent gazes. “I lost him once, right? The second time may not be so bad.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Youngjae scoffed.

“Seriously. Jinyoung,” Bambam rolled his eyes. “It's hardly time to be getting a divorce lawyer. Mark’s just ...mad. And he’s entitled to be mad for awhile.”

“Yeah. I mean, what you did was pretty fucked,” Youngjae offered, tilting his brows upward. “Who knows? Maybe he’ll wise up and move on.”

Jinyoung glared at him. “You’re not helping.”

“I’m just kidding,” he waved, seeing the look on Jinyoung’s face stay stony. He rolled off the couch. “Okay. Maybe that’s the cue for wine.” He went to Jinyoung’s drawers and opened them, rummaging through. “Where’s your bottle opener?”

“I don’t have one.”

Youngjae raised his head, squinting his eyes. “What self-respecting millennial doesn’t own a bottle opener?”

“I don’t drink much,” Jinyoung shrugged.

Youngjae huffed, “Well, no better time to start than in your present condition.”

Jinyoung watched his attention return to the drawers, surveying for something that might be able to do the job. And just above the collar of Youngjae’s sweater, a pink patch of skin caught Jinyoung’s eye. “Youngjae,” he called out, pointing. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?” Youngjae hummed, distracted as he tried to turn over the wine bottles. Looking for some alternative way to open them.

“That thing on your neck.”

Youngjae paused, features flashing with panic before he started to pull at the skin of his neck, craning his head as if he could stretch enough to see it too. “Oh, it’s just a birthmark,” he shook his head. “I guess you never noticed it.”

“No, it’s not,” Bambam’s face tightened, studying him just as carefully and wiping his crummy hands together slowly.

“Bam,” Jinyoung snapped. “Get him.”

Bam rose quickly to his feet, rushing over and wrapping his arms tightly around Youngjae. 

The man yelped, trying to writhe out of his grasp but in the process, fell to the floor. “Would you cut it out!?” he called, squirming between Bam’s tight arms.

Jinyoung stooped down, fingers digging into the collar of the man’s sweater and tugging downwards. Bam and him hovering over, bringing their eyes closer to inspect the rouge. Watching it grow pinker as Youngjae struggled, blooming with color along his neck.

“Yup. It’s a bite mark,” Bam said with finality as he let the man go. 

Youngjae sat up, scowling and pulling his collar up higher.

“So,” Jinyoung licked his lips, smiling. “I’m guessing you took Jackson up on that drink.”

Youngjae groaned, “We were kind of here to help you.”

Jinyoung shrugged, “We can multitask.”

Bam smiled wide. “Couldn’t find his chew toy then?” he giggled, fingers going to tickle at Youngjae’s neck.

“Is his bark worse than his bite?” Jinyoung added, earning a high five from Bambam.

“You two are dead to me,” Youngjae deadpanned, rising to his feet.

“Okay, okay. Fine,” Bam agreed, standing up with him. ”We will be serious.”

Jinyoung sat himself on the kitchen counter. “How is that fine young man?” he grinned. “He’s sweet, right? A little over eager. But he kind of grows on you.”

Youngjae started to back himself towards the door. “I’m going downstairs to get a bottle opener,” he said, carefully. “And if we are still on this topic when I come back, I will not hesitate to gouge all four of your eyes out with a corkscrew.” He smiled tightly before leaving.

Jinyoung watched the door slam, sighing. “I missed that kid so much.”

“Jinyoung,” Bambam grabbed his attention. “What are you going to do? About Mark?”

He felt the levity in the conversation plummeting again. Deeper than Jinyoung wanted to go. “What _can_ I do?” he asked. “I just have to wait and see. The choice, for maybe the first time, is his to make. No conditions this time. Just his life with me or without me.”

Bambam thought to himself for a long moment before speaking up. “Maybe you should… talk to him.”

“He said to give him space.”

“No,” Bam shook his head. “Not Mark. Jaebeom.”

Jinyoung’s eyes narrowed. “Jaebeom? Why?”

Bam shrugged. “How do you think he’s feeling right now?”

Jinyoung thought back to the last time he’d seen him. In that very room. The mix of fury and hurt in his eyes. Quiet and wordless. “I don’t know,” he said. “He doesn’t really open up.”

Bambam’s eyes went round. “Does he not open up or does nobody listen?”

Jinyoung considered it. The silence stretching on until it was uncomfortable.

“Jinyoung,” Bam took in a breath, putting a hand to his friend’s knee. “All I’m suggesting is that maybe it’s time to listen.”

\---

Even the hallways of Jaebeom’s apartment building felt like some strange place that was totally disconnected from his picture of the man. The carpet smelled musty and the lights overhead were too dim and there was shouting from an apartment down the hall that Jinyoung couldn’t quite make out. And all of it was enough to have him questioning if he was even in the right place but as he double checked the address, he confirmed that this was it. He found Jaebeom’s apartment number. Taking a deep breath before knocking. And nearly a minute passed with not as much as a shuffle behind it. He pouted, thinking maybe the frontman was out. He knocked again.

Seconds later, the door opened in a rush. Jaebeom stood there. His long hair messy. Wearing a hoodie that overwhelmed him and ragged old sweatpants to match. And as his sharp eyes met Jinyoung’s, they softened. Growing distant. His mouth falling open. But no noise coming out.

“Hey,” Jinyoung breathed, looking up at him.

Jaebeom closed his mouth. He swallowed. The blade of his eyes sharpening again. And when he spoke, his voice sounded like it was clenched between his teeth. “Who told you where I live?”

Jinyoung shrugged. “I might have asked Jackson for your address,” he said. His head tilting a little. “Can I come in? Or-”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Jaebeom grimaced.

Jinyoung sighed. “Come on. I just want to talk.”

“You’ve said enough,” Jaebeom nodded. “Done enough.”

Jinyoung twisted his lips together. “Jaebeom, please,” he said, firmly.

The man looked at him. Eyes going round and nervous. He blinked, hesitating. “Make it quick,” he conceded, turning back inside and leaving the door open in his wake.

Jinyoung pushed through. His eyes adjusting to the even dimmer light of Jaebeom’s apartment. In fact, the only light source was the slight golden dusk fighting through the heavy black curtains of his living room. He looked around.

To be fair, he never really put much thought into Jaebeom’s apartment. They spent all their time together at his after all. But just like the hallway, it was nothing like he expected. The walls were bare. A depressingly dirty cream. Like maybe they’d been white before the yellow haze of cigarette smoke got to them. And when he looked out into the living room, there was no couch. No tables. Just some cardboard boxes on the musty carpet. A few guitars leaned up against the wall. A laptop and an ashtray and some notebooks scattered onto the floor.

“It’s a bit messy right now,” Jaebeom said, over his shoulder. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

It felt like an understatement and left Jinyoung wondering why there wasn’t any furniture. “Are you moving?” he looked at the boxes, their contents messy and spilling out, trying to make sense of it.

“What do you want?” Jaebeom turned, standing in the middle of the living room and folding his arms over his broad chest.

Jinyoung’s eyes couldn’t stop surveying the room. “I just wanted to know how you’re doing,” he said, absentmindedly. “But I can see that it’s not so great.”

“It’s nothing,” Jaebeom shook his head. “It’s usually better. It’s just-”

Jinyoung raised his eyes to him suddenly. “Is this why you always came to my place?”

Jaebeom went silent. His posture going from that nearly seething aggression he’d just had to something that had collapsed in on itself. Self-conscious under Jinyoung’s stare. “It’s just…” he hesitated, tucking his long hair behind his ear. “I’ve never lived by myself before.”

Jinyoung furrowed his brow. Because that didn’t explain anything. “You’ve lived here for a year and a half,” he took a step toward him. “How do you barely have anything?”

“I just,” Jaebeom flustered. “I didn’t know how to do all that stuff. I would try to do it but. It was foreign. And overwhelming. So I guess I gave up trying.”

And Jinyoung couldn’t understand. He couldn’t imagine what the man even meant. “Jaebeom,” he huffed. “You could have told me. I could have helped.”

Jaebeom shook his head. His voice came out quiet. “You wouldn’t have listened,” he said. “You didn’t care.”

Jinyoung considered momentarily if he would have cared. And he was left a little unsettled when he realized he wasn’t sure.

“So,” Jaebeom turned away, walking himself toward the kitchen. He reached for the counter, a pack and a lighter. “Are you two…” he struggled to find the words as he leaned in the doorway to the living room and tapped the carton against his palm. “Together then?”

“No,” Jinyoung shook his head. “I mean. Maybe we were. For a few moments,” he thought. Remembering Mark’s smile and his warmth for just a moment before the image crumbled. “But he’s not too happy about… everything.”

“Of course he’s not,” Jaebeom held the cigarette to his mouth, lighting it and taking a drag. “His ...fantasy of you,” he waved his hand, smoke trailing the path. “The man who waited for him,” his eyes widened, mocking. “I mean you pretty much demolished it,” he laughed, something a little cruel in it. Like maybe he was enjoying picking them apart from the outside. “He does that you know,” he looked at him. “Romanticizes things. People. When they show him attention.”

And the frivolous way that he talked about Mark struck a nerve in Jinyoung. He glared back at him. “Well, you’d know best,” he sneered. “After all, he did it with you first.”

Jaebeom went quiet. The haughty smile falling to nothing, but his eyes still burning through Jinyoung. He took another slow drag.

Jinyoung didn’t have a cigarette to busy his hands or a wall to lean into. So he just stood in an ocean of awkwardness, stewing in it, hating it, before breaking it up. “Why did you nix the album?” he asked.

“I can’t write another album,” he shook his head.

Jinyoung scoffed. “Don’t be dramatic, Jaebeom.”

He shrugged, turning back into the kitchen to tap the excess ash into the sink. “I’ve had almost three months. Four producers. Nearly a hundred songs. None of them worth seeing the light of day,” his voice reverberated against the steel basin of the sink.

“You just…” Jinyoung sighed, coming forward and leaning on the kitchen doorway. “You’re going through a slump. It happens to everyone.”

The peaks of Jaebeom’s shoulder blades jutted out as he braced himself against the sink. “My whole life has been a slump,” he said under his breath.

“Jaebeom, stop,” Jinyoung scoffed. He folded his arms across his chest. “It’s temporary.”

Jaebeom turned towards him, “Then wake me up when it’s over, won't you?” He pushed past him, walking back to the living room and taking a seat on the floor. He put his cigarette between his lips as he started flipping through a notebook on the ground.

Jinyoung felt himself getting frustrated. He thought coming here might prompt the productive conversation that Bambam had encouraged him to have. But he felt like they were getting nowhere. Jaebeom’s talent for stonewalling leaving him gruff. He watched him on the ground, paging through a notebook passively. As if maybe ignoring Jinyoung’s presence entirely would make him evaporate from where he stood. The dimming light of dusk was trying to slip through the curtains, but it was useless. Everything was shrouded in the dying light. And it only added to Jinyoung’s frustration. Reminded him that Jaebeom wasn’t letting him in, wasn’t letting himself be seen.

The frustration peaked. He sighed, exasperated. “God, it’s dark in here,” he murmured, reaching for the light switch and flicking it up. His eyes tracked up to the light in the ceiling, seeing nothing happen. He flicked the next switch. And the next. No response. “Jaebeom,” he asked. “Are your lights out?”

Jaebeom’s shoulders tightened from where he sat on the ground. Shifting the burning cigarette between his fingers. “Yeah. They...,” he sighed, nails scratching against his eyebrow, refusing to meet Jinyoung’s gaze. “I used to have someone from our company pay it for me. But you know. Things haven’t been going so well. With the album and such. So I haven’t wanted to ask.”

Jinyoung stepped closer. “You…” he blinked, confused. “You don’t know how to pay your light bill?”

Jaebeom looked up finally. His eyes wide and round. Hiding his shame. He shrugged. “I never had to before,” he said softly.

Jinyoung looked at him. Reminded of that man who would crawl up in his bed and allow himself to not be so angry. The one who confided in him. Even begrudgingly. Even when Jinyoung had to physically press it out of him. And he was left wondering why that picture of Jaebeom felt like a fuzzy memory being filled in, before realizing that he hadn’t seen that Jaebeom in weeks. Not since Mark had suddenly taken up so much space in Jinyoung’s head that there hadn’t been any room for Jaebeom to exist. 

And if the change had felt abrupt to Jinyoung, it was hard to imagine how it was for Jaebeom. Severed so suddenly with no proper understanding of why. Jinyoung considering his actions. How he lashed out at Jaebeom, ignored him, refused him. And it probably didn’t make any sense until he saw Mark in Jinyoung’s apartment. And Jinyoung hadn’t considered that. So suddenly, he was flooded with something that felt like guilt. For abandoning Jaebeom when he perhaps needed someone the most.

Jinyoung swallowed. “Stay at my place tonight,” he said, voice firm. “I will show you how to pay it tomorrow.”

“No,” Jaebeom shook his head, immediately raising his hands in protest. “It’s fine. I’m fine here.”

“Come on,” Jinyoung turned toward what he assumed was the bedroom. “I’ll help you pack.” And he reached for the door.

“Jinyoung, stop,” Jaebeom called, rising to his feet.

But Jinyoung was faster, pushing through the door and stopping in his tracks. The room was similar to the living room. No bed. Just a mat on the floor. Boxes along the wall with books and clothes spilling out. But the stark difference was the walls. Because they weren’t bare. No, instead along the wall behind the mat, the dirty cream had been marred with black. Jagged writing, as sharp and pointed as Jaebeom’s gaze. Like black gashes in the wall. The same words over and over again.

_The grease won’t ever lift. The grease won’t ever lift. The grease won’t ever lift._

Jinyoung stepped forward slowly, inspecting with wide eyes. The words covered the majority of the wall. As tall as Jaebeom could have reached all the way to the baseboards. “What did you do?” he muttered, eyes fixated on the writing.

Jaebeom spoke from the doorway. Words coming out exasperated. “It’s just…,” he held a breath, releasing it in a pained whine. “I was angry. I just needed to do something.”

Jinyoung turned to look at him, seeing the way his eyebrows were knitted together. Seeing the way squirmed beneath his skin. So desperate to not be seen for what he really was. A man who’s darkness had gotten the best of him, the best of everything in his life. That darkness eclipsing anything else in him, leaving him flooded, drowning it. Never having learned how to scream for help. Jinyoung tightened his jaw. “Let’s pack your bag, Jaebeom.”  


\---

The mid-day light was harsh in Jinyoung’s apartment. Bright enough to warrant squinting from his place on the couch. Looking over the notepad he’d been writing on. He looked at his watch. It was past noon now. Jinyoung had slept on the couch the night before, after much protesting on Jaebeom’s part and even more insisting on Jinyoung’s part. But eventually the front man had conceded, curled himself up into Jinyoung’s bed. Looking smaller than he ever had there.

The bedroom door creaked open. Jinyoung looked up from the notepad.

Jaebeom came out, standing before him in his pajamas. His squinted eyes that he was still trying to wipe the sleep away from.

“Morning,” Jinyoung offered. “There’s coffee for you.” He beckoned to the kitchen counter.

Jaebeom grimaced slightly. As if he might try to protest. But then it fell as he shuffled over to the counter, assembling his cup wordlessly. He stirred it together, shuffling over to the couch and sitting opposite him.

Jinyoung watched him take his first few sips. “How are you feeling?” he said, softly.

Jaebeom sighed. He let the cup rest in his lap. His eyes went out the window, into the blinding light. “I don’t know,” he murmured. His eyes drifting over to the pad of paper in Jinyoung’s lap. “What are you writing?”

Jinyoung looked down to it too. Suddenly feeling a nervous kick in his stomach. “I…” he started, trying to string together the most innocuous words he could. “I went ahead and did some research on people near you. People you could talk to.”

Jaebeom’s face crinkled into a sneer. “Therapists?”

“Well,” Jinyoung swallowed. He didn’t know how to say it. He didn’t want to scare Jaebeom off. That was the last thing he wanted. “Yeah. People who might be better trained to help you.”

“I don’t want to talk to some doctor,” Jaebeom shook his head.

“It’s just… you’re having a hard time.” 

“What if I am?” Jaebeom rushed, words coming out rough. “I didn’t ask for you to come over yesterday. Yet you did. I didn’t ask you to keep walking into my life uninvited and I sure as hell didn’t ask for you to start making judgements about it.”

Jinyoung fidgeted the pen between his fingers. “The way you are living isn’t normal. You must be able to see that.”

Jaebeom went silent. Eyes defocusing on Jinyoung’s face. Miles away for a moment too long.

“It’s okay to admit that you’ve been through a lot. With the move to New York. With the album. With your personal life. A lot has been changing. Anyone would be having a hard time.”

Jaebeom huffed. “So you think talking to someone is gonna fix all my problems?”

Jinyoung felt the edge of annoyance that Jaebeom tended to pull from him. “Don’t be so stubborn,” he said, before reminding himself to let it go. Willing himself to stay calm. “It’s just a start. Something that can’t hurt. Only help.”

Jaebeom blinked, “Why are you doing this?”

Jinyoung sighed, “Because you’ve been struggling. For a long time. Probably since before I met you. And I should have noticed, but I was distracted. Distracted from a lot of things. So I’m trying to help now. In whatever way I can.” He tore the list from the edge of the notepad, handing it towards Jaebeom. “You don’t have to talk to anyone if you don’t want to. But it’s a list. It’s some options.”

Jaebeom stared down at the list. Considering, silently. He slowly reached out, taking it.

Jinyoung felt a spark of hope. But he reminded himself that it was too soon to kindle it. That he had to be patient and understanding. Even about the things he couldn’t yet understand. He put the feeling away, reaching for his laptop on the coffee table. “Where’s your wallet?” he asked. “I’ll show you how to pay your light bill.”

\---

It was only two days later that Jinyoung was knocking on Jaebeom’s door again in the mid-morning. Trying to catch his breath as he balanced an arm full of supplies. 

Jaebeom came to the door. His eyebrows immediately furrowing and surveying the contents.

“I can’t believe,” Jinyoung huffed. “Your stupid apartment building,” he gasped. “Doesn’t have an elevator.”

“It’s a historic building,” Jaebeom argued. “What is all this?”

“That’s no excuse,” Jinyoung shook his head. “Painting stuff,” he hoisted two paint cans a little higher. The bag on his arm full of rollers and brushes and trays hitting his leg.

“Painting?” Jaebeom’s face screwed together.

“For your bedroom,” Jinyoung said, going into the apartment and setting the supplies down on the floor.

“Have you ever even painted before?” Jaebeom asked from behind him.

“No,” Jinyoung shook his head. “But it can’t be that hard, right? I mean kids do it with their hands.” He looked at him. “Have you?”

Jaebeom huffed. “Yeah,” he said. “Come on.”

They laid out a tarp on the bedroom floor. Jaebeom opened the cans of paint, pouring one into a tray. “What color is this?”

Jinyoung shrugged. “I don’t know. Kind of gray. Kind of blue. Kind of green,” he cocked his head. “It was called Sea Salt. I thought it looked relaxing.”

Jaebeom nodded. “It will do,” he said, tying his hair up away from his face.

They both grabbed rollers, sweeping through the paint and onto the wall. Watching Jaebeom’s words disappear. Erased. Replaced by the serene light gray.

“How have you been?” Jinyoung asked, eyes focused on painting. Making sure it was thick enough for the writing to not show through.

Jaebeom worked carefully around the baseboard. “Not so different.”

“What have you been doing?”

“Just…” Jaebeom considered as he painted. “Thinking a lot.”

“About what?”

“How I can be better.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” Jaebeom reached for the tray, rolling again. “I just feel like there is room for improvement.”

“Yeah,” Jinyoung sighed. “I know the feeling.”

And they painted in silence for a couple of hours. Moving to the next wall and then the next. One by one, covering that dingy yellowed white with something fresh, clean. Having time to think to themselves while doing the meditative task. 

“Hey,” Jinyoung stopped, putting down his brush. “I’m going to take a break and go downstairs to get us some drinks,” he said, wiping some excess paint onto his jeans. “What do you want?”

“Coffee is fine,” Jaebeom said, concentrating on a corner he was getting at.

But before Jinyoung could put on his shoes, he heard a knock. He stopped, gravitating towards the front door and opening it. Freezing immediately when he saw Mark standing before him. His fingers wrapped around a large file in his arms. His eyes going wide and his mouth going small. And it hit Jinyoung square on just how much he’d been missing him. How much just standing before him was the biggest rush of oxytocin he’d had in days.

“Hey,” he breathed.

“What are you...” Mark’s voice trailed off.

And Jinyoung, very suddenly, became aware of how this looked. Him answering the door at Jaebeom’s apartment. After everything. “Wait,” he rushed to say.

Mark did not wait. Instead, he groaned and pushed past him. 

Jaebeom, having heard the commotion, came out of the bedroom and saw who had come in. “Mark,” his shoulders dropped.

Mark didn’t stop but instead pushed Jaebeom’s shoulders, roughly. “What the actual fuck are you doing? First, you suspend recording. Now, this?”

Jaebeom blinked, dazed. “It’s not- stop, it’s not what you think,” he stuttered out.

“Then, what is it?” Mark yelled, hand twisting into his shirt.

“Jaebeom,” Jinyoung commanded, grabbing both of their attention. “Can you... just let us talk?”

Jaebeom sighed. He slipped away from Mark's grasp. “Deal with this,” he told Jinyoung. “I’m going to get that coffee.” He walked out, slamming the door behind him.

Mark sighed. That frustrated, disappointed sigh that Jinyoung had gotten too accustomed to hearing. “What are you doing here?”

“I was helping him. He was having a hard time and he ruined his walls and so I brought paint and-” 

“Why?” Mark raised his voice. “Why _you_?”

Jinyoung felt himself drawing away, defensive. “Cause he needed a friend.” 

“And it’s gotta be you, right?” Mark huffed. “What about his band mates? His oldest friends? Why couldn’t we be helping him?” 

“How long did you guys know he was living like this?” 

Mark scoffed. “Like what?”

“Look around you,” Jinyoung said, motioning to the living room. “He has no furniture. He has no bed. The place is a mess. Hell, he didn’t have electricity until a few days ago.” He watched as Mark looked around, the fierceness of his expression softening. “He’s been here for a year and a half. When was the last time you came over and saw this?”

Mark was silent, taking it in.

Jinyoung watched him. He shook his head. “You’ve never been over here, have you?”

“No,” he said, voice weak now.

“And he never told you any of this?”

“No.”

Jinyoung sighed. “Look. I haven’t known him as long as you have. And I get it, we don’t have the best history. But regardless, he obviously doesn’t feel comfortable telling you guys these things. But he trusts me. And I didn’t help him before. I just made things worse for him. So I’m trying to help now.”

Mark looked back to him, trying to read him. “I don’t get it,” he shook his head.

Jinyoung shrugged. “It’s hard to explain.”

“But nothing is happening?” Mark asked.

“No,” Jinyoung said, firmly. “That’s in the past.”

Mark took in a deep breath. Considering for a long time. “Okay,” he nodded. Like he was willing to let it go, even if he didn’t understand completely.

Jinyoung didn’t know what else he could say to make it better. He pointed at the folder in his arms. “What is that?”

Mark looked down to it, remembering what he had brought. “Oh. Just something for Jaebeom,” he handed it over to Jinyoung. “Just make sure he gets it.”

Jinyoung took it. And they stood there for a moment too long. “I miss you,” he offered.

Mark smiled, looking down to the floor. “Of course, you do,” he huffed.

Jinyoung couldn’t help but smile. Everything made a little warmer just by the simple pulling of Mark’s lips. “What? You don’t miss me?”

Mark looked up at him, still smiling a little. “Not yet,” he shook his head.

Jinyoung cocked his head. “Are you going to?”

Mark shrugged. “I’m not quite sure.”

Jinyoung licked his lips. “Well,” he shrugged. “Let me know if you do.”

Mark nodded. “You’ll be the first one to know.” He passed him, making his way toward the door. “I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Same,” Jinyoung smiled, watching him leave before going back into the bedroom and continuing to paint.

A few minutes later, Jaebeom came in with two coffees in his hands. He leaned into the bedroom. “Did you deal with it?”

“Yeah,” Jinyoung said, grabbing more paint. “He left you something. On the counter.”

Jaebeom put the coffees down, going to get it. He stood in the doorway, combing through the contents of the folder. He only did so for about thirty seconds before he scoffed and threw it down.

Jinyoung grimaced at it on the floor. “What is it?”

Jaebeom shook his head. “He’s trying to give me song ideas,” he said, grabbing a paint brush and continuing to paint. “I don’t need them.”

Jinyoung cocked his head. “Have you ever listened to them?”

Jaebeom glared at him. “Why would I? I can do it myself.”

Jinyoung remembered how Mark had talked in his interview. How belittled and dismissed he felt by Jaebeom. And in that, he felt himself growing irritated. “He’s a part of the band, Jaebeom.”

“And I’m the frontman,” he said, carefully. “I write the music. I’ve always written the music. He knows that.”

And it was the same stubbornness Jinyoung had heard from all his band members ever since he started the article. “He’s classically trained,” Jinyoung said, more firmly.

“So what?” Jaebeom sneered. “Like that even means anything.”

And something in Jinyoung finally popped off. “He studied music for years, Jaebeom. He has more experience than all of you combined. The least you can do is try to hear his ideas,” he raised his voice, dropping his brush into the tray and coming closer to him. “You know, he’s more than just a pretty thing to fawn over. He’s smart and he’s hardworking and he’s sacrificed everything to be a part of this band even when it wasn’t what he wanted.”

Jaebeom rolled his eyes. Barely looking away from what he was doing. “Of course you are advocating for him. Stop being so predictable.”

Jinyoung fisted his hands. “I’m saying that if you want to be heard, you need to be willing to listen. And shouldering the burdens of your group alone is not pride, it’s stupidity. You said you wanted to know how to be better. This. This, Jaebeom is how you become better. Listening to your freaking band members for once.”

Jaebeom stopped, turning towards him. “Fine,” he spat. “I’m stupid, I’m a hypocrite, I’m a bad leader-”

“-I didn’t say-”

“-What are you going to do, Jinyoung?” Jaebeom snapped. “Walk out? Leave? Push me out again?” As if it was a challenge. As if it was exactly what Jaebeom expected him to do.

“No,” Jinyoung barked back. “You make me so mad. And I hate the way you handle these things,” he seethed. “But I’m not leaving.” He reached down picking up the roller again and starting to paint, albeit more aggressively this time. “We are going to finish this together.”

He didn’t look back at Jaebeom. He just kept painting. But from the corner of his eye, he could see Jaebeom staring at him before he turned back. Continuing to paint. Both of them working in silence. 

“Jinyoung,” Jaebeom spoke a few minutes later. His voice softer again.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”


	7. ...reaffirming

**Four Months Later.**

“I can’t believe you don’t have an air conditioner,” Jaebeom laid stretched out on Jinyoung’s couch. The damp hair at his temples being blown away from his face by the fan he’d positioned in front of him as soon as he came in, eyes closed tight like he was sweltering in the humid intensity of the apartment.

Jinyoung cracked more ice from the tray, dropping them into glasses and pouring water over, hearing how it fractured in the sudden shift of temperature. “It’s the beauty of New York City summers,” he said, coming over to the couch. “Who am I to mess with that?” He handed Jaebeom a glass of ice water.

Jaebeom took it, holding it against his forehead. “Next time I come over, I’m bringing a window unit with me,” he sighed.

“It will ruin my view!” Jinyoung argued, beckoning towards the open window that was letting in the sounds of the city, cars harmonizing with the hum of the fan. “Scooch.”

Jaebeom rolled his eyes, sitting up and making room for him. He took a big swig of water before grabbing a plastic wrapped sucker from his pocket and unwrapping it. He popped it between his teeth.

“What is that?” Jinyoung asked, putting his ice water glass down on the coffee table.

Jaebeom took it out, inspecting the unnaturally blue sphere. “Blue raspberry,” he said with his teeth and tongue beginning to tint bright blue.

Jinyoung raised his eyebrow. “A new compulsion?”

Jaebeom teased it back into his mouth, rolling it to his other cheek. “Trying to replace an old one actually.”

“You gave up smoking?”

“Trying to,” Jaebeom’s finger twirled around the candy’s stick. “So that you don’t have to bully me about it anymore.”

Jinyoung narrowed his eyes. “It’s gross.”

“Yeah, well,” Jaebeom’s shoulders shrugged, still carrying a tightness that hadn’t left them since he came in that day.

Jinyoung had noticed. “Are you nervous?”

Jaebeom huffed. “Fuck yeah, I am.”

Jinyoung shook his head. “It’s not that big of a deal. It’s like you're talking to your therapist.”

“Except my therapist doesn’t put what I say in the cover story of one of the biggest music magazines in the country.”

“Maybe she should,” he raised his eyebrow. “Strike while the iron’s hot.”

Jaebeom smirked. More amused than he wanted to let on.

Jinyoung returned it. He drew in a deep breath. “I’m glad we’re finally doing this.”

Jaebeom drew the candy from his mouth. “Me too,” he said, sincerely.

“So,” Jinyoung cleared his throat. He picked up his notepad from the coffee table. “State your name for the record.”

Jaebeom huffed, biting around the candy’s stick again. “Jaebeom Lim. Frontman of Brainstorm. Professional misfit. Total basket case,” he rolled his eyes. “But happy now. Or closer to happy at least”

Jinyoung tilted his head, “What was keeping you from being happy before?”

“A lot of things,” the man said, growing serious. “The way I was raised. The burdens I carried as a leader. The inability to talk about the way I feel without the fear that others would think I’m weak.” 

Jinyoung smirked. “Does this mean you’re a proud bottom now?” he jeered, scrawling down words onto his notepad.

“Shut up and don’t you dare write that down,” Jaebeom snapped.

“Ugh. Fine,” Jinyoung joked. “So what was the tipping point for all of this?”

Jaebeom sat back, thinking. “I mean, it’s tough to say,” he shrugged. “The thing is, I really had convinced myself that signing the record deal and moving to the city would mean moving on from a lot of things I hoped to leave in my hometown.”

“But it wasn’t so easy to move on,” Jinyoung said, quietly. Relating. Remembering how nothing about him moving to the city had gone according to plan.

“Exactly,” Jaebeom said. “And when it became clear that the problem wasn’t the town, or the ...people who I had tried to put all my problems onto, that it was just me... there was just no hope left. Nothing left to stand on. So really I was just finding new ways to drown out that reality. But at some point, I just had to realize that I couldn’t blame those things anymore. I had to take responsibility and pick myself back up.”

“And you did,” Jinyoung nodded.

“With help.”

“Help only opens the door,” Jinyoung offered. “You were the one to walk in. To embrace the process.”

Jaebeom thought for a moment before nodding, pulling out the blue candy from his mouth and inspecting it. “I guess you’re right,” he said, modestly.

“And now?”

“It’s better now,” the man nodded. “The therapy and the medicine and all the things I swore were cop outs in the past, they have made all those fears that I was dealing with ...better. And that’s not to say everything’s perfect. I mean, I’m still working through a lot of things. Things that challenge me every single day,” he thought. “To be totally honest, I think I’ll always be working on this. Probably for the rest of my life,” he acknowledged. “But.... everything. It’s just so much more manageable now. I’m not paralyzed by all those fears. I feel like I can let those close to me in. Show vulnerability and see that they don’t think of me any less because of it. I can see that people want to help me. Not because they pity me but because they want the best for me. And I can let others lead when they are better suited to it.”

“Like Mark?”

“Like Mark,” he nodded. “But the others too. I’m open to what they have to say. Willing to try new things.”

“And how has that reflected in the music?”

“We’ve been able to try things that we haven’t ever done before. Things that felt… weird at first,” he screwed his face. “Unorthodox. Unsafe for a rock band. And I had to learn to let go a lot. Drop my expectation of what I thought we needed to sound like. What people would expect us to sound like.”

“Was that hard?”

“Absolutely,” Jaebeom huffed. “And I thought it would make us sound unrecognizable. I thought it would… I don’t know, dilute our identity. But in fact, I think it strengthened it. I think we’ve never sounded more like ourselves,” his eyes glowed in a way that Jinyoung never remembered seeing in the past. Not before everything started getting better for him. “Have you been listening to the stuff I’ve sent you?”

“I have,” Jinyoung nodded. “I think it sounds amazing. Like nothing else out there.”

“You can be honest, you know.”

“Jaebeom. You know me. I would tell you if it was bad,” he leaned down, taking a sip of water. Feeling all that condensation slipping between his fingertips. “Honestly. I feel like the album is more than great rock music. It’s just great music.”

Jaebeom looked down into his hands, smiling. “I appreciate that,” he said. “I know I don’t tell you this enough but I value your opinion.”

Jinyoung felt the sincerity of the comment warm him even more than the apartment was. But he buried it, savoring it for another time. He moved on. “So the album is done then?”

“Yep,” Jaebeom nodded, sucker clicking against his teeth. “Well, almost.”

“Almost?”

“One more song to record,” Jaebeom bit into the sucker, shattering it between his blue teeth with a crunch.

Jinyoung furrowed his brows, confused. “Aren’t you shipping the album to print this week?”

Jaebeom sat forward, his shoulders going tight again as he tossed the blue tipped stick onto the table. “Yeah,” he said, voice pitching a little higher. “But the last song is just acoustic.”

Jinyoung beckoned toward the guitar case that Jaebeom had left by the door when he came in. “Is that why you brought that? On your way to record?”

“Kind of,” Jaebeom scratched at the nape of his neck.

“Kind of?” Jinyoung’s eyes narrowed, getting annoyed as he continued to evade him. “Can you just tell me what you’re getting at?”

Jaebeom sighed, shoulders dropping before he stood up. He grabbed the guitar case from the doorway, bringing it over and sitting back down. He opened it up, taking out a Gibson Hummingbird. His fingertips strumming against the strings once to make sure it was in tune. And perhaps it was a little sharp in the apartment’s heat but it didn’t make much of a difference so he offered it towards Jinyoung. His eyes looking up. Round and ambivalent. “Can you ...play that song for me?”

Jinyoung looked at the guitar. His stomach kicking forward in a sudden rush of nerves. “What song?” he said, feeling tripped up in a trap.

“The song you wrote,” Jaebeom’s eyes pleaded. “For him.”

Jinyoung drew in a breath, feeling the ache of memory before he could even contextualize it. As if he was hardwired to remember only the unfavorable events that song kicked up in him. The shame that kicked up alongside it. “Why?”

Jaebeom shrugged. “I just want to hear it again.”

Jinyoung hesitated, hand reaching out before pulling back momentarily. But he looked into Jaebeom’s eyes and saw the intentness there. So he grabbed it. Settling it onto his lap. Feeling the muscle memory kick in as his fingers wrapped around the frets, finding a chord. “How is he by the way?” Jinyoung asked, nonchalant.

“You two _still_ aren’t talking?”

“Nope,” Jinyoung sighed. “He’s still mad, I guess.”

Jaebeom looked up at him, “Are you sure about that?”

Jinyoung glared. “Why else wouldn’t he be talking to me for four months?”

The man shrugged. “Maybe he’s just waiting.”

“For what?”

“Something significant,” Jaebeom watched his hands against the frets, trying to memorize the chords. “Play.”

Jinyoung had another question on the tip of his tongue but he swallowed it, instead strumming out the first chord and being drawn back to the feeling of that town. He kept strumming, skipping into the next chord and remembering the bright lights of the Balaclava. Blinding him until he had to blink his eyes to get a glimpse at the shadowed side stage. And then he started to sing out the words, remembering how they’d sounded, delayed and echoing back towards him in the cooling summer air. Trying to push down the shame that those memories still held in favor for remembering something else. A blonde drummer who dressed in muscle tanks and bandanas. Who smiled like he was put on this earth to be loved. Who bit his lips when he was at odds with himself. Whose eyes sparkled back in a way that could dispel every darkness but his own.

And Jinyoung sang in remembrance of that blonde drummer. Not mourning the loss of him but honoring him. As the one who captured his attention so fully until he couldn’t see anything else, want anything else but him. And Jinyoung wanted so badly to save him. To be hopelessly needed.

But he didn’t just honor that past version of Mark. Because there was so much more to that hometown boy who changed into a man. A man who didn’t waver in his choices but stood so firmly that sometimes there was no room for anyone to stand beside him. But it only made Jinyoung love him more. Only made him realize that the strength Mark had gained and the way he’d exercised it against Jinyoung scared him. Because Mark didn’t _need_ Jinyoung or Jaebeom or the band or anyone anymore. 

It reminded Jinyoung of what the drummer had said two summers ago. That Jinyoung hadn’t known fear. And he couldn’t help but think that Mark had been right. Because Jinyoung couldn’t remember a time when he had feared anything. Not until he had to watch Mark keep walking out of his life and not knowing if he’d return. 

But the fear is what had changed Jinyoung. What put everything into perspective and made him realize that there was more to life than being hopelessly needed. There were people around him who needed him in totally different ways. And sharing his love with those people didn't mean there would be less for Mark. In fact, it meant that there would be more things about himself to love. And so he sang. He sang until the final chord rang out. Bent and refracted against the apartment walls. Looking up, seeing Jaebeom staring back.

The man drew in a breath. Eyebrows coming together. “You changed it.”

“I rewrote some lyrics,” Jinyoung shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant as he handed the guitar back.

Jaebeom took it. “When?”

“I’ve had a lot of time on my hands.”

Jaebeom huffed. He put the guitar away, closing the case. “I like the changes.”

Jinyoung felt himself calm at the validation. “Why’d you want me to play it?” 

“Well,” Jaebeom sat back. “I wanted to ask you,” he folded his hands together in his lap, thumbs twiddling. “If I could have it. For the album.” 

“What?” Jinyoung blinked. Replaying what he said a few times. “Why?” 

“Two reasons,” he started. “One. I’m really happy with what the band has made,” he nodded. “But I think something that’s missing is a quiet moment. A personal moment. And I think your song could be perfect for that.” 

“And two?”

“Two,” Jaebeom sighed. “I’ve been trying to think of a way I can thank him. For all the help he’s been with this record. And I think this might be it.”

The realization hit him square on. “Wait. You haven’t told him?”

“No,” Jaebeom shook his head, looking down like he was contemplating. “It’s kind of a surprise.”

Jinyoung felt the rise of a fever crawl up his neck like he was doing something wrong. “Doesn’t sound like the best idea.”

Jaebeom was silent for a moment, considering. He looked up at him, “Do you trust me?”

Jinyoung looked at him. Thinking distantly about the local scene, mulleted king who only delivered fierce words and fists. And then the troubled man who could crawl up into Jinyoung’s bed and quietly, brutally hurt alongside him. And now another evolution. A friend. Both of them trying to support each other even when they were blindly feeling around for how to convey it. And how they’d gotten there didn’t matter. There was just a certain comfort in steady ground. 

Jinyoung licked his lips. “Yeah. I trust you.” 

Jaebeom’s mouth pulled up at one side, eyes brightening. “So you’ll let me use it?” 

Jinyoung sighed. “Yeah,” he nodded. “You can use it.”

Jaebeom smiled wide, the height of his strong features crescenting his sharp eyes.

“In exchange for a favor,” Jinyoung said.

Jaebeom’s face fell. His mouth hanging open in flustered confusion. “A favor?”

Jinyoung smirked, “What are you doing this weekend?”

Jaebeom’s eyes stayed steady, unsure of where he was going with this. “I didn’t have plans,” he said, hesitantly. “Why?”

“I’d like you to take someone out for me.”

Jaebeom’s chest sunk. “Like on a date?” his eyes widened.

“Yeah,” Jinyoung nodded. “Exactly like a date.”

Jaebeom’s eyebrows tinged together, his nose following. “Who?”

Jinyoung smiled. “Bam.”

Jaebeom’s face paled. “J-Jinyoung,” he stammered. “I don’t…” he sighed. “I’ve never really been on a date before.”

“Well,” Jinyoung shrugged. “About time then, don’t you think?”

Jaebeom went quiet. Still. Eyes averting. Defocusing as he fell deep into a place that Jinyoung couldn’t get to.

“So,” Jinyoung said, coaxing his attention back. “Will you do it?”

Jaebeom ruminated in silence for a few more moments. “I mean,” he said, quietly. His chest going wide as he drew in a breath. “Are you sure he even would say yes?”

Jinyoung stared at him. “Do you trust me?”

Jaebeom looked back up. Holding his breath in before sighing. “You’ll need to help me text him.”

Jinyoung reached for his phone. “I already have a template.”

\---

As soon as the subway doors opened, Jinyoung was sprinting up the staircase of the station. Checking his watch and cursing under his breath. Wondering exactly how he’d managed to be late. As he ascended to street level, his eyes caught on something that slowed his feet to a stop. The newsstand. The magazine. Brainstorm’s picture, the one they’d taken four months ago, stared back at him. The member’s expressions laced with a confidence that made Jinyoung want to laugh. Knowing how insecure and confused they’d truly felt during that time.

“You just going to look at it or you going to buy it?” the man at the newsstand called in a gravelly voice. “It was just released today you know.”

“I know,” Jinyoung grinned. “I wrote it.”

The man rolled his eyes. “Sure, you did, kid. Buy it or move on.”

Jinyoung huffed, turning to walk on down the street. It was only a couple blocks until he saw the club, a long line of people snaking down the street, waiting to get in. He stepped up to the velvet ropes at the front door.

“Hold it,” a bouncer stopped him with one hand raised. Brandishing a clipboard in the other. “Name.”

“Jinyoung Park,” he said, proudly.

The bouncer flipped through his list. He tutted his tongue behind his teeth. “I don’t see you,” he hissed.

Jinyoung’s smile dropped. “What? But I’m a friend. Of the band. And a journalist,” his words rushed out, panicked. “I wrote the cover story? It’s out today. You might have seen it. I mean I swear, the company said that they would put me on the list for the album release party. I spoke to… I think her name was Janice. Or Josie. I think that sounds ri-”

“Oh,” the bouncer’s finger tapped against his clipboard. “There you are. Sorry about that, Mr. Park.”

Jinyoung breathed, brushing off his panic as they raised the rope for him to come in. The inside of the club was loud with chatter. People mingling in the space between the bar and the stage. The spotlights shining against the polished metal of the band’s equipment, reflecting out into the darkness of the club.

Jinyoung looked around, trying to spot a familiar face. But he didn’t expect his eyes to fall on Mark across the room before anyone else.

The man’s eyes were locked on him. His hair had been dyed jet black since the last time Jinyoung had seen him. And his skin was a little warmer from the summer sun. The tint of tan mixing with the low light to make every high and low of him stand out. His sharp cheekbones, his pointed jaw, his firm arms below the sleeves of his black t-shirt. And Jinyoung felt like he could feel that warmth radiating from across the room, harkening back to Mark’s hands and the press of his body. Everything about him just as vivid, even at a distance. Even the sparkle of his eyes, the way they contrasted his dark hair was visible from where he stood. And Jinyoung ached in sudden realization of how much he missed him.

Mark held his gaze as he nodded towards him. A smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Jinyoung returned it. Wondering for a moment if it was an invitation to approach. But before he could take a step towards him, he felt hands pulling at his shoulders.

“Jinyoung!” Youngjae called, turning him away from Mark. “Finally! We’ve been waiting for you.”

Bambam was at his side. “We thought you were going to miss the performance!”

“I’m here, I’m here,” Jinyoung laughed, trying to crane his head over his shoulder to catch another glimpse of Mark but his friends were grabbing too much of his attention. “Relax.”

Bam held a hand to his chest, “I was betting that you were off buying a hundred copies of the magazine in hopes to inflate the sales.”

Youngjae piped in, “And I was betting that you were stuck at the door cause no one remembered to put you on their list.”

“Well,” Jinyoung titled his head. “Sorry, you are both wrong. I only bought like… a dozen copies. And the record company put me on their list.” He smiled. “Plus, Youngjae, you should really be asking who invited Bam to the party.”

Youngjae looked to Bambam before turning back to Jinyoung. “I thought he was your plus one?”

“Nope,” Jinyoung laughed. “Guess again.”

Youngjae’s face sparked with realization, shifting slowly back to Bambam and quirking his brow. “Could it be the same frontman who picked you up from our apartment last Friday night?”

“Wow,” Bambam blinked. “How could I have forgotten how nosy of a roommate you are, Youngjae?”

“I’m not nosy,” Youngjae scoffed, sipping at the drink in his hand. “I’m just observant.”

“So,” Jinyoung hit Bam’s shoulder. “How was it? The date.”

Bam narrowed his eyes at him, “How did _you_ know we went on a date?”

Jinyoung scoffed. “Because he was texting me the whole night,” he rolled his eyes. His voice mocking. “ _Does he like red or white wine? Does he even like wine? What about ice cream? Or is that stupid? Can I hold his hand? Do people really do that on first dates?_ ”

Bambam laughed into his drink, cheeks going round and shy. “We had fun.”

“I’ll say,” Youngjae’s eyes widened. “He left on Friday night and didn’t come back till Sunday night.”

Jinyoung’s eyebrows went up, looking over to his friend and waiting for an explanation.

Bam shrugged. “He’s a nice guy,” he said, softly. “Different. But sweet.”

Jinyoung sighed, “Please just tell me he has a real bed now.”

Bambam nodded. “I can confirm he has a real bed. And a real couch. And a real kitchen counter-”

“You know what, I’m good,” Youngjae stopped him. “Someone, please, switch the topic.”

“Fine,” Jinyoung laughed. “How’s it feel to be the producer of the most anticipated rock album of the year?”

“Jinyoung, please,” Youngjae said. “Interview me _after_ my Grammy nomination.”

And from nowhere, Jackson appeared, putting his chin to Youngjae’s shoulder. “Which of course he’ll get,” he smiled, wrapping his arms around Youngjae’s middle. “My crazy talented boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” Jinyoung’s eyes went wide, looking over to Bambam for a moment before looking back.

Youngjae’s ears reddened slightly. His lips thinned in embarrassment for a moment before he cleared his throat. Standing a little straighter. “Well,” he offered. “Jackson asked me when I visited last time, but we wanted to wait till I had graduated and moved to make it official.”

“How is it?” Jinyoung asked. “Being in a real relationship.”

Youngjae smiled, looking down at Jackson. “I recommend it.”

Jackson beamed back at him, eyes twinkling with admiration.

“Jackson,” Bambam pointed. “Did Youngjae buy you that necklace?”

Jackson looked down at the polished golden dog tag pendant that hung from a gold chain around his neck. “Yeah, how’d you know?” he smiled, pulling the necklace out and showing it off.

Youngjae stared back at Bam with murder in his eyes.

Bambam shrugged, smirking, “Just a guess.”

“It looks great, Jackson,” Jinyoung nodded, containing his reaction. “I’m so happy for both of you.

“Thanks, man!” Jackson reached forward, patting Jinyoung’s shoulder. He looked up, seeing someone beckon for him. “Hey. I’ve got to go get ready.” He turned back to Youngjae, “Will you be watching?”

“Of course,” the man nodded, smiling. “You’ll see me.”

Jackson kissed his cheek with another squeeze around his waist before jogging back towards the stage.

“Good luck, pup,” Youngjae called after him. But it only took a second for his face to crumble in realization of what he said, his ears turning bright red.

“Pup?” Bam asked, eyes wide.

“Not a word,” Youngjae’s eyes narrowed at both of them.

Jinyoung fought his smile. "Wow, I guess you really-"

"Jinyoung,” Youngjae breathed. “I swear to god-"

"-screwed the pooch on that one."

“Ayeee,” Bambam high-fived him, both of them dissolving into laughter.

Youngjae’s gaze went behind Jinyoung’s shoulder, eyes widening in an instant. “Bam,” he grabbed his arm. “Let’s go get another drink.”

Bambam looked down to his half finished mixed drink. “But I’m not even-”

“Let’s go anyway,” Youngjae pulled him away.

Jinyoung stood there for a moment, utterly confused.

“Hey,” he heard a call from behind him.

He turned, seeing Mark there. Smiling with his hands held behind his back. And immediately, Jinyoung felt his chest widen with a breath. Mark’s black hair and his warm skin and his sparkling eyes drawing an even stronger reaction from this close. 

“Hey,” Jinyoung breathed. Feeling himself smile. “Congrats on the album.”

“Congrats on the article,” Mark offered. “I was actually wondering,” he pulled his hands out from behind his back, brandishing a copy of the magazine and a marker. “If I could get the author to sign my copy.”

Jinyoung laughed. “Anything for a fan,” he said, taking it. “Have you read it yet?” he asked, signing his name on the cover.

“I have.”

Jinyoung’s stomach somersaulted with sudden nerves. “And,” he handed it back.

Mark flipped through the magazine quickly, finding a page that was dogeared at the corner. His eyes scrolled down before he started to read. “Drummer, Mark Tuan’s wide pointed smile and the sparkle in his dark eyes make him so breathtakingly beautiful that he looks like he was made to break your heart. And it’s the least fascinating thing about him. Learning that he was actually a classically trained musician before he adapted those skills into a different genre with such ease and grace that it’s hard to imagine he wasn’t born to write rock music. Taking on the majority of the musical direction on the new album is in fact why the early reviews have been sensationally glowing with the awaited success of the album expecting to redefine not only the band’s success but also the indispensable necessity for their unique perspective in music.” He closed the magazine, holding it against his chest and looking up at him.

Jinyoung’s face screwed together. “Did I make it too obvious?” 

“Make what too obvious?”

Jinyoung sighed. “That I’m sickeningly in love with you and I always have been?”

Mark looked down, smiling wide before looking back up. “I think you did okay.”

“Mark,” Yugyeom called from behind them. “It’s time!”

Mark beckoned towards the stage. “I got to go.”

Jinyoung nodded, “I’ll be here.”

Mark bit into his lips. “I know you will be.”

Jinyoung joined Youngjae and Bambam in the crowd to watch the band perform. The songs that Jinyoung had heard early demos and, later, full recordings for coming alive as they played them. And Jinyoung was brought back to that first time he had watched Brainstorm play. The first time he had been dragged in by their passion and their vibrancy just like so many others were. And even if they were all a little wiser now. A little more polished. A little more settled. All the things Jinyoung had loved about them still shone through.

But, like always, his eyes couldn’t help but go to Mark. Watching the way he drummed. So precise and physical and teeming with confidence. Because though Mark’s confidence in himself had been something that needed time and conflict to develop, his confidence in his drumming was always there. As he drummed, the sleeves of his t-shirt pulled higher, showing how the firm muscles flexed under the skin. And Jinyoung couldn’t help but get swept up in the mix of nostalgia for their past and yearning for their future. Feeling that ever present backbeat in his heart that was only for Mark.

The band finished off three songs from the new album before Jaebeom thanked the cheering crowd. Mark stood from his kit and started to follow Jackson off stage with Yugyeom close behind. But Jaebeom stayed, taking off his electric and replacing it with an acoustic guitar.

“So,” Jaebeom spoke to the crowd, adjusting the capo at the neck of the guitar. “We actually had a late addition to the album.”

Jinyoung’s eyes went to Mark, who was nearly off the stage when he looked back at Jaebeom, furrowing his brows in confusion. Starting to take a step back towards the frontman.

“And I would like to play it for you all tonight. Would that be okay?”

The crowd cheered again but Jinyoung watched how Jackson and Yugyeom grabbed Mark’s arms and pulled him the rest of the way offstage, anchoring him to where they could watch from the shadows.

Jaebeom began to strum his fingers against the strings. 

And Jinyoung watched as, only a few chords in, Mark’s face shifted. Recognizing the song.

The crowd quieted to nothing as they looked up at Jaebeom, who began to sing.

_My starry-eyed Juliet,_  
_My helpless secret,_  
_You’re the favorite season of my life._

_And you said,_  
_The sun will be up soon,_  
_We can’t hide in this room,_  
_I said then let’s go find a place for just us two._

_And I’d count every star in the black of your eyes,_  
_If they promise to swallow me whole._  
_And I’ll take you to bed, call my name when you cry,_  
_Cause in a town without anything, you’re the only one who feels like home._

Jinyoung’s eyes flicked over to Mark. Watching how his mouth was small, his eyes glazed over. Fixated on Jaebeom as he played. And Jinyoung couldn’t place the expression, which left his stomach churning as Jaebeom started to sing again.

_But that was then, wasn’t it?_  
_Before mistakes we’d regret,_  
_Before the arrogance of needing overshadowed the beauty of trying._

_And you said,_  
_Another time, another place,_  
_Not just a repeating collision in space,_  
_Chasing a picture of summer that we fail to replicate._

_And I’d count every star in the black of your eyes,_  
_If they promise to swallow me whole._  
_And I’ll take you to bed, call my name when you cry,_  
_Cause in a city of strangers, you’re the only one who feels like home._

When Jinyoung looked over again, Mark wasn’t at the side stage anymore. And his eyes went wide as he tried to locate him among the crowd, but he hated it when the image of Mark leaving the party was the first thing he thought of. Wondering if he’d mistepped in trusting Jaebeom. But just as his heart rate started to spiral out of his chest, he felt someone grabbing his hand. Warm skin and long, calloused fingers.

He looked up, seeing Mark there. His smile small and his eyes earnest. And the man only took a moment before he was pulling Jinyoung’s arm around his waist, burrowing himself into Jinyoung’s chest.

Jinyoung drew in a breath, surprised when Mark’s weight leaned onto him. He blinked, paralyzed for a moment before his other arm came up and wrapped around Mark. Holding him closely against him. And something about it had Jinyoung’s mind playing back the words of that acoustic singer-songwriter he’d interviewed in the winter.

_I think you should be able to whisper it in confidence. In a language made only for the person who needs to hear it. And trust that they are truly listening. Even if you don’t shout it._

And as they watched Jaebeom play, Jinyoung finally understood what he’d meant. Because even if it was Jaebeom whispering it on Jinyoung’s behalf, he was watching the way Mark looked up at the stage between his arms and he knew. Mark was truly listening.

_And I’ve loved every stretch of yourself you’ve exposed to me,_  
_And I love even the ones that I can’t see,_  
_Like an astronomer loves the stars that will never burn within his reach._

_And I’d count every star in the black of your eyes,_  
_If they promise to swallow me whole._  
_And I’ll take you to bed, call my name when you cry,_  
_Cause in every history, you are the habit I forgot to outgrow._  
_And in every infinity, we are more than just a worry for tomorrow._

Jaebeom let the last chord ring out as the crowd began to cheer.

Jinyoung looked down into Mark’s eyes. Seeing their sparkle from this close and knowing that this was that something significant that Jaebeom had spoken of. And it made him want to laugh and cry and kiss him, but he withheld. Instead reaching into the back pocket of his jeans and pulling out a piece of paper.

“Here,” he said, handing it to Mark.

Mark looked at it, taking it and unfolding it between his hands. “What is this?” he asked, starting to read. “Your favorite flavor of ice cream. The thing you collected growing up. The strangest dream you ever had.” His eyes scanned down the paper before looking back up. “Jinyoung, what are all of these?” 

“It’s a list,” Jinyoung smiled. “Of all the things we haven’t spoken of.” He took a deep breath. “I want to hear about all of them. Cause we didn’t get a chance at being normal. And I think for a long time, that felt like a curse. But ...maybe it doesn’t have to be. Maybe it can just be an opportunity for something even better than normal.”

Mark looked at him. Then back down to the list, folding it between his fingers. He offered it back to Jinyoung with a smile. “Chocolate.”

“What?” Jinyoung asked, taking it back.

“My favorite flavor of ice cream. Chocolate,” he smiled, thinking for a moment. “Or coffee maybe. I’m not as picky about the flavor. More about the company I share it with.”

Jinyoung smiled back. “Maybe… we should. I don’t know. Get ice cream sometime.”

Mark shrugged. “Are you free after this?”

Jinyoung felt all the warmth of Mark in his arms permeate everywhere. “Are you saying you finally miss me?”

Mark nodded. “Yeah,” he pouted. Arms squeezing a little tighter around Jinyoung’s middle. “I really do.”

Jinyoung laughed. “I’m free after this.” He released Mark from his arms, reaching out to hold his hand. “But maybe we should stay a little longer. You know. Celebrate the album.”

“I like the sound of that,” Mark said, dragging him back towards the grouping of members and friends. “Come on.”

\---

The summer night was hot. All the asphalt slowly radiating the heat it had absorbed all day. Mixing with the mistiness of the evening until the air was thick with humidity. And maybe the thickness of the air could play some poor excuse for why Mark and Jinyoung walked so slow through Central Park, fingers intertwined as they passed a chocolate ice cream cone back and forth. When the truth was simpler than that.

“You're on death row. What’s your last meal?”

“Hmm,” Mark hummed, licking at the edge of the cone as he thought. “Nothing crazy. Cheeseburger, fries, a chocolate milkshake. You?”

“Anything my mom cooks,” Jinyoung answered. “She makes the best food.”

Mark handed the cone over. “You think she’ll cook for me one day?”

Jinyoung felt an immediate rush of excitement at the idea. “Of course,” he said, taking the ice cream from him. “She’d love to.” He took a bite of the cone, “Okay. Your favorite scar.”

Mark scoffed, “You really going to bite into it like that?”

“It’s the best part,” Jinyoung shrugged, chewing. “Favorite scar, go.”

Mark smiled. “On me?”

“Yeah.”

“Mmmm. This one,” he lifted his right hand, showing off the silvery white slice in the lamplight. “I slipped on ice during a family vacation in Colorado.”

“What were you doing in Colorado?” Jinyoung passed the ice cream back.

Mark took it, seeing how the chocolate was melting and dripping down his knuckles. He licked at them. “We rented a cabin, went snowboarding,” he listed. “It was fun.”

Jinyoung watched him carefully. Trying to keep his mind from wandering too far from the conversation. “How are they? Your family?”

Mark sighed, “It’s not perfect. But it’s better. I’m obviously not thrilled with how they handled things. And they aren’t thrilled with the choices I made. But just because the band wasn’t my first dream, doesn’t mean it’s any less of an accomplishment.”

“You have a lot to be proud of,” Jinyoung squeezed his hand. “Even if it wasn’t the trajectory they expected for you.”

“I know that,” Mark nodded. “I’m still working on it.” He passed the cone back. “I have another favorite scar though.”

“Which one?” Jinyoung said, biting into the cone again.

Mark reached his hand up, holding the side of Jinyoung’s face and swiping his thumb against the little divot in his cheek. “This one,” he smiled.

Jinyoung laughed through full cheeks. “Well you best be thanking Jaebeom then,” he shrugged, swallowing. “He was the one to open it up. Twice.”

“Twice?” Mark’s brows creased.

Jinyoung shook his head, passing the remnants of the cone back. “It’s a long story.”

Mark quirked a brow at him, taking the cone and crunching down on the last bite. “It’s still so weird,” he chewed. “Seeing you two go from enemies to whatever you were to best friends now.”

“I know,” Jinyoung’s nerves tickled at his core. He stopped them, pulling Mark’s hand to get his attention. “I’m sorry.”

Mark was sucking the sticky spots off his fingers. “For what?” he looked up, eyes catching the lamplight.

“For everything,” Jinyoung said, earnestly. “For what happened between Jaebeom and I. It was stupid and immature and it didn’t help either of us do anything but stunt our own growth and healing. And it was even worse for me to try and justify it with my feelings for you. That was fucked up.”

“It was,” Mark nodded. “But I wasn’t perfect either. I shouldn’t have glorified you for waiting for me. Because it just made it harder for you to be transparent about you and Jaebeom. And that didn’t help anyone either.”

“But look at us now,” Jinyoung smiled.

“In Central Park?” Mark tilted his head.

“Together,” Jinyoung said, firmly. He laced his arms behind Mark’s back and drew him close. “And maybe neither of us is perfect. But we’re still perfect together,” he leaned down, lips lingering over the other’s mouth. “Don’t you agree?”

Mark’s lashes fluttered. “God. You’re so lame,” he giggled, leaning up to close the space between their mouths. 

Jinyoung loved how warm his lips were, rivaling the heat of the summer night. The perfect mix of familiar and exciting from the months he hadn’t been kissing him. And though he had hated each and every day he went without seeing his face or hearing his laugh or kissing his lips, he couldn’t deny how much sweeter the wait had made this moment feel.

Mark pulled away from him, smiling wide. His hand coming back up, thumb grazing against the scar on Jinyoung’s cheek. “You ever think about how you’d never have gotten this if you hadn’t met me?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “And that’s why it’s my favorite, too.”

Mark’s hand traced down Jinyoung’s body, intertwining their fingers again. “Come on,” he said. “It’s getting late.”

They reached Eighth Avenue, seeing the slow nighttime traffic moving up and down the street. Jinyoung took out his phone, starting to open an app.

“What are you doing?” Mark asked.

Jinyoung didn’t look up. “I’m getting you a cab home.”

“I don’t need one,” Mark shook his head.

Jinyoung scoffed, “You can’t walk home. It’s late. I don’t want you to be alone-”

“Jinyoung,” Mark laughed, grabbing his arm to stop him.

Jinyoung looked up, seeing his wide smile. Each of his pointed teeth showing through.

“Take me home,” he said.

Jinyoung stilled, understanding the connotation. That Mark wanted to come home with him. And he wasn’t just saying it like it was Jinyoung’s home. A place. A building. An address. But rather a feeling. Of security. Of permanence.

“Okay,” Jinyoung smiled, putting his phone away and pulling Mark in the direction of his apartment.

They got home, leaving the lights out as they kicked off their shoes and changed from their clothes into Jinyoung’s pajamas. They crawled up into bed together, Mark leaning into Jinyoung’s chest. The fan blowing cool air over the expanse of his warm back. And though the apartment was hot, they didn’t care. Nothing could have kept them from tangling themselves together.

In the darkness, they listened to the album through Jinyoung’s bedroom speakers. Letting it play alongside the hum of the city and the fan. And as it played, Mark told him all these little details. About the symphonies that his inspirations harkened back to. And about how him and Jaebeom had talked for hours to get the words to reinforce the same sentiments as the music. How Mark suggested instruments they hadn’t even used before to get new sounds. And how Youngjae had facilitated the dialogues they were having, helping them communicate their multiple visions until they fit together like puzzle pieces.

They arrived at the last track. Jinyoung’s acoustic number that Jaebeom had live-tracked at the last minute. So stripped down and bare and different from the level of production on the other songs. It played soft and melodic through the speakers.

“Which song is your favorite song?” Jinyoung asked, his fingers trailing against Mark’s back. “On the new album.”

Mark looked up at him, “Yours.” 

Jinyoung huffed, “Don’t lie.” 

“I’m not lying,” Mark shook his head. “I love it.”

Jinyoung smiled. “Don’t you think that’s a little narcissistic? To favor the song that’s written for you?” 

“Maybe,” Mark laughed. “But it’s yours. And I love everything that’s yours.” 

“Well,” Jinyoung tilted his head. “It’s not mine anymore. It’s yours.” 

“All mine,” Mark hummed, pleased. He raised himself up, crawling closer and hovering over Jinyoung’s face. “Just like you, right?”

“Just like me,” Jinyoung agreed, leaning up to kiss him. And it was slow and sweet and quiet, just like the song.

Mark pulled back, smiling. “Play it again,” he whispered, laying back down against his chest. “I want to hear it again.”

And Jinyoung did, letting the soft music fill the comfortable silence and watching as Mark’s eyes fluttered shut. Watched as he drifted off to sleep. Burning as hot as he’d remembered. Even if Jinyoung knew that neither of them were running anymore.

\---

“Favorite thing about mornings,” Mark said, sipping at the mug between his fingers. He was sitting cross-legged in the middle of Jinyoung’s bed, both his pajamas and hair ruffled. The sleepiness still present in the slight squint of his eyes.

“Two things,” Jinyoung answered. “Coffee,” he held up his mug. “And waking up next to you.”

“Aww,” Mark smiled. “Okay, next,” he said, looking around Jinyoung’s room and thinking. “If there was a fire right now, what’s the one thing you’d save.”

“The print in my living room,” he said, taking a sip.

Mark tilted his head, “Which one?”

“You didn’t see it last night?” Jinyoung smirked.

Mark looked confused. “It was dark.”

Jinyoung put his mug down on the bedside table. “Come on,” he pulled Mark from the bed and dragged him out to the living room.

On the wall, Mark’s print hung. Framed and shining in the bright morning light.

“Jinyoung,” Mark laughed. “How did you get this?”

“It was a gift. From someone at work,” he shrugged, putting his chin to Mark’s shoulder.

“Really?” Mark raised his brows, pointing to the photo. “Are you a fan of his?”

“The biggest,” Jinyoung nodded, his arms circling around Mark’s middle and holding him closer. “He’s my favorite Brainstorm member.”

“Really?” Mark shrugged, “I hear he’s a bit of an idiot. Naive. Hot-headed. Impulsive.”

“Maybe so,” Jinyoung’s fingers hooked into the collar of Mark’s shirt, tugging it down and kissing at the skin of his shoulder. “But I also like him cause he’s talented. And warm. And patient. And strong.”

“Oh yeah,” Mark grinned, drawing his shoulder up at the feeling. “And what about that journalist that he loves so much? What have you heard about him?”

“Him?” Jinyoung smacked his lips, pulling away. “Well, I hear he can be out of touch. Selfish. Misguided. Cocky.”

Mark laughed. “You’re right,” he nodded, twisting in his arms. Letting his hands snake up Jinyoung’s neck. “But I also know that he’s smart. And passionate. And confident. And supportive.”

“Hmm,” Jinyoung hummed. “Maybe we’re talking about two different people.”

“Stop,” Mark giggled. “You’re such a brat.”

“Am I?” Jinyoung said, voice low.

“Yes,” Mark said. “That’s why you didn’t even ask me what my favorite thing about mornings is.”

Jinyoung laughed. “You’re right,” he said, leaning in to kiss at skin near his ear. “Tell me, then. What’s your favorite thing about mornings?”

Mark pushed at Jinyoung’s chest, looking at him. Biting his lip beautifully. “Why don’t I show you?” he said, steering him back through the bedroom door and onto the bed. He crawled up into his lap, hands going up into his hair and drawing him close. He kissed him and it was immediately different from the soft kisses they’d shared since last night. Mark angling his face to press into him, nipping at his lip.

Jinyoung felt Mark tug his lip away to slide his tongue into his mouth. And it had his hands immediately going to Mark’s hips, splaying wide and dragging him down against him. Awakening something that he’d been holding back for longer than he liked.

He felt Mark’s lips curve into a tight smile as he started to grind down into his lap. The kisses already holding too much breath, panting like they were driving themselves crazy just by rocking their hips together.

Jinyoung’s hands combed up under Mark’s shirt, feeling at his tattoos and his ribs before raising the shirt up his torso and tossing it onto the floor. Letting Mark claw at his back to do the same.

Jinyoung stood up, turning around to toss Mark’s down onto the bed. Watching him bounce and look up with a smile. He let the urgency take control as his hands went up to the waist of Mark’s pajamas and yanked them down.

Mark complied, kicking them off and looking up in anticipation.

And seeing Mark back in his bed only enticed him more, so he grabbed for Mark’s hips and turned him onto his side.

“Jinyoung,” Mark laughed. “What are you-”

But he didn’t give Mark a moment before he was leaning down and kissing at the backs of his thighs. Mouth dragging slowly up the skin.

“Oh,” Mark reacted, watching Jinyoung creep closer.

Jinyoung’s hands gripped down on Mark’s hips and his mouth met the crease of his cheek, running his tongue along it and hearing Mark give a stunned moan. He trailed his kisses a little higher, nearing the spot he was after. He pulled back, opening Mark up beneath him and letting him linger for a moment there in anticipation. Before ducking down and pressing a soft kiss against his entrance.

Mark choked around a sound, folded at the hip where he was trying to watch Jinyoung. His mouth falling open at the sight.

Jinyoung looked up at him as he kept kissing at it. Letting those kisses get longer, deeper, until his tongue was poking from between his lips to pass over the spot. Leaving it gleaming in the morning light.

“Fuck,” Mark whispered. His hand going down to pull his cheek away, inviting Jinyoung deeper.

Jinyoung took the opportunity, licking wide against Mark and feeling him shudder. Prodding deeper into the spot and loving the way it unraveled him. He brought his finger up, pushing it between his own lips before pressing it against Mark.

Mark groaned, back arching and hand fisting into the sheets.

Jinyoung pushed the finger into him, the heat encircling him as he started to massage. Feeling the tense muscles start to soften. He returned his mouth, lapping at the sides of his finger and providing the much needed slide of his saliva.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Mark cursed, watching him through lidded eyes. Biting down into his lip. “That’s so fucking _good_ , baby.”

Jinyoung’s neck warmed at the praise, remembering how good it felt to make Mark feel good. He brought another finger up, sliding it alongside. Working them together and kissing against them. And this lasted for a while, Jinyoung slickening the slide of his dexterous fingers with his messy tongue. Feeling Mark tremble and shake and whimper at every little movement as if he’d been starved for touch.

“Jinyoung,” he finally whined. “Please. I can’t cum like this.”

Jinyoung smirked. He sat up, withdrawing his fingers and wiping his slick mouth against his arm. “I agree,” he purred. And he pushed his pajamas off before crawling onto the bed and lacing an arm around Mark’s middle. He dragged him upwards, pushing him against the headboard and drawing their faces close to kiss again. Biting down on his lower lip and hearing him whine back into his mouth. Pressing his shoulders into the headboard before lifting under his thigh, positioning him before reaching over and grabbing the lube from the bedside.

Mark snatched the bottle from his hand, eager fingers fumbling as he tried to uncap it. When he finally did, he slicked up his hand before coating Jinyoung’s dick thoroughly.

Jinyoung pressed his thigh a little higher, opening him up before sinking into him.

“Oh fuck, Jinyoung,” Mark groaned, hips kicking toward him.

Jinyoung leaned in. “How’s that?” he murmured close to his ear.

“Its-fuck. Just please,” Mark whined. “More. I need more.”

Jinyoung smirked, pulling back and watching how he slid out before forcefully pushing back in. Watching how Mark stretched for him. How his chest began to bloom with shades of pink, a subtle glow of sweat blooming along with it.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Jinyoung panted.

Mark moaned. “Then, fuck me, damnit,” he hissed between his teeth.

Jinyoung smiled at his frustration, letting his hands rest on either side of Mark’s head against the headboard before driving himself harder into him. Keeping him pressed against the wall with his body while his hips rutted into him.

Mark’s tiny little sounds at every thrust made both of their chests rumble. His fingers desperately scratching at Jinyoung’s neck and fisting into his hair.

Jinyoung didn’t let up, keeping the motion of his hips steady as he could feel Mark’s hard, leaking cock glide between the dewy skin of their torsos meeting. 

Mark moaned loud. “Like that, like that,” he squirmed. 

Jinyoung upped the momentum as he pulled back just enough to watch Mark’s face. Hand going under his chin to lift it up. Tracing his thumb around the edge of Mark’s open mouth. Feeling each little desperate breath against the pad of his finger.

“Don’t stop,” Mark sobbed, teeth grating against his thumb. “Please.”

“Never,” Jinyoung whispered, unable to stop watching as Mark edged closer to his limit. “We’re doing this together. Okay? Can you do that?”

Mark’s eyebrows titled up in the middle as he bit down on the tip of Jinyoung’s thumb. Trying to ground himself. He nodded. “Soon,” he mumbled, growing incoherent. “Please, soon.”

Jinyoung withdrew his thumb, replacing it with his mouth. Licking into Mark and feeling him give just as much back. Both of them groaning as Jinyoung kicked his hips as hard as he could up into Mark. Feeling every inch of flesh go tighter and tighter until it was too much. He pulled back, hand grabbing at Mark’s chin again. “Now,” he groaned.

Mark’s mouth fell open. His eyes going black, swallowing up their own precious sparkle as they glazed. “Jinyoung,” he choked out, body caving into him as he painted himself onto the skin between them.

And Jinyoung let go too. His hips stifling for a final deep thrust into Mark as he released, muscles going stiff for a long pause. Just staring unblinking into Mark’s face, mesmerized. Before the play button was hit and his body gave out, slumping back onto his feet. He tried to breathe, pushing his hair away.

Mark seemed to recover quicker, suddenly grabbing his face and pulling him closer. “I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you,” he murmured, kissing his face in quick succession. 

“I love you too,” Jinyoung laughed, through his elevated heart rate. “But…” his voice trailed off.

Mark pulled away, looking back at him. “But what?” he asked, breathing hard as well.

Jinyoung’s chest fluttered, even as it was coming down. “But I want you to stay,” he said, softly.

Mark smiled. “For how long?”

“Forever.”

Mark’s eyebrows went up, “You want me to live here?”

Jinyoung nodded.

“Jinyoung,” he laughed. “Baby. One step at a time.”

“Fine,” Jinyoung sighed. “Then I’m two steps ahead.” He leaned over, reached under a book on the bedside table. He pulled out a key and held it between his fingers.

Mark looked at it, reaching out and taking it. He looked back at him, smirking, “Is this Jaebeom’s key?”

Jinyoung groaned, leaning back onto the bed and covering his face with hands. “Okay, that’s not fair.”

“I’m joking,” Mark laughed, leaning down and prying Jinyoung's hands away to pin them above his head. “It’s fine. I’ll take it. I want it.”

Jinyoung looked up at him, “Good,” he said, curling his fingers around Mark’s. He leaned himself up, nearly brushing their lips together.

Suddenly, Mark’s phone rang on the bedside table.

Jinyoung stopped, reaching over and grabbing it. He looked at the screen. “It’s Jaebeom,” he noted.

Mark reached for it, but he was too slow. Laughing when Jinyoung pulled it from his reach. “Jinyoung,” he squealed. “Stop. Give it to me.”

Jinyoung pushed his hands away, swiping open the call and raising it to his ear. “You’ve reached the office of Mr. Mark Tuan. He can’t come to the phone right now. He’s currently in a _very_ important meeting with a _very_ handsome journalist. Can I take a message?”

“Very funny,” Jaebeom said, flatly. “Come on. Give him the phone.”

“He said it can’t wait,” Jinyoung shrugged, handing Mark’s phone to him.

Mark snatched it back with a smile, getting out of bed and walking over to the window. Looking out over the view as he talked.

And Jinyoung watched him. Drifting off into a daydream of the many future mornings they would spend like this. And even though he knew that there would be times when Mark would go off on a big tour or Jinyoung would have to travel to cover a story, he knew that they would both come back together like this. Because they always did.

“I’ll see you soon,” Mark said, hanging up the phone and tossing it onto the bed. “Get dressed,” he told Jinyoung.

“What?” Jinyoung sat up, quickly. “Where are we going?”

“Brunch.”

“With who?” Jinyoung furrowed his brows.

“Everyone. Yugyeom, Jackson, Youngjae, Jaebeom, Bambam,” he opened Jinyoung’s closet, fingers rifling through the hangers before pulling out a white button up and throwing it over his shoulders.

Jinyoung groaned, lying back on the sheets. “I don’t want to go to brunch. I want to stay in with you.”

Mark smirked, buttoning up the shirt. “They thought you’d say that,” he said, pulling a pair of jeans out of the drawer and tossing them to Jinyoung. “Bam said to say something about an emergency meeting?”

Jinyoung’s shoulders sank. “That is so cruel,” he sighed. He grabbed at the jeans and started to pull them on. “Fine. I guess I do owe them one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, my friends, for enjoying this series with me. I'm so thankful for each and every person who interacted. All this discourse about mental health, toxic relationships, the differences between obsessing and true love, and how to recover from mistakes really fueled this story!
> 
> Thank you to my friend, [@parkjunihoe](https://twitter.com/parkjunihoe)/[ao3: pepipeaches,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepipeaches/pseuds/pepipeaches)for all your help as always!
> 
> Also, this series was heavily inspired by [jaeykyu's loving you's a bloodsport series.](https://archiveofourown.org/series/741096) It's so great. Please read it!
> 
> As always, come yell at me on Twitter: [@oceans4jinyoung](https://twitter.com/oceans4jinyoung)  
> 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [we put your curse in reverse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28293687) by [serendipitee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serendipitee/pseuds/serendipitee)




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